The Greatest American Monko
by Bob Wright
Summary: Monk's trip to Philadelphia to see his father again leads to a meeting with Ralph Hinkley, and a case that may be a tad out of his league. NOW COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

THE GREATEST AMERICAN MONKO

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: If the GAH storyline sounds somewhat familiar to some readers, I decided, since my original story Philadelphia Freedom was going nowhere, to merge it together with Monk and see what happens there.

Adrian Monk and all releated characters and indicia are registered trademarks of USA Network, Mandeville Films, and Touchstone Television. The Greatest American Hero and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Stephen J. Cannell Productions. And now, sit back and enjoy the story.

* * *

"November 11, 1981, November 12, 1981, November 13, 1981..." Adrian Monk slowly read off the dates on the newspapers in his brother's den. He had to make sure they were all in chronological order before he boxed them all to be loaded into the truck they'd rented for the trip to the airport. 

"How far are you?" Ambrose leaned over his shoulder.

"Only about a quarter of the way," Adrian informed him with a shake of his head, "There's no way we're going to get every single one packed before the plane leaves, Ambrose."

"He has to have all of them," Ambrose protested, "He needs to catch up with everything."

"Oh, I just think he already knows what's going on, Ambrose," Adrian shook his head. Ever since their father had called them about two months ago following the premiere of the show based on Adrian's life and invited both brothers to join him on vacation in Philadelphia over the Fourth of July weekend, Ambrose had been practically foaming at the mouth with anticipation at meeting him again. Thus, they had spent a good two weeks cataloguing and boxing everything the instruction manual writer had deemed worthy to take with him on what was to be his very first vacation--which was just about everything in the house.

His assistant was in fact trudging into view now with four large boxes in hand, looking quite worn out--which, given that it was five in the morning, wasn't all that surprising. "I think that's the last of it from the attic," she informed Ambrose, "Luckily. I really need a break between this and taking your brother's stuff."

"Well Natalie, you know how important having those things are to me as well," Adrian told her.

"Your refrigerator, Mr. Monk?" she had to ask.

"You never know when these hotel fridges can just cut out," the detective said, taking a dust rag in hand and wiping at a dusty spot next to the mantle that had long been obscured by all of Ambrose's newspapers, "Better safe than sorry I figure. Actually, I'd better clean this better before we go."

"We have to go in ten minutes, Monk," Captain Leland Stottlemeyer entered the den with his own set of boxes, "That plane leaves in an hour and a half; we'll all get bumped if we're late. Trust me from someone who's been up in the air more than you have."

"Hey," Lieutenant Randall Disher stumbled into sight, carrying a large filing cabinet in his arms--and straining hard to avoid dropping it, "Where do you want me to put this?"

Stottlemeyer rolled his eyes. "When Monk's brother said to get all the mail, Randy, he didn't mean the WHOLE CABINET." he pointed out, "Well, better go see if there's any space in the truck for that."

He walked to the door with his own boxes. Disher set the cabinet down. "So, did I tell you guys how exciting it is to be going back home?" he asked them.

"Exactly five times in the last twenty-four hours," Ambrose told him.

"We're going to have to stop by my old house," the lieutenant excitedly rambled, "I've been waiting so long to show it to the captain, to all of you. You know, when I was young, it was always thrill to go into Center City. It'll be good to share it with someone."

"But we all know the real reason you're so happy to go," Natalie told him, "Since you first heard Sharona was going to be there, you've been chomping at the bit."

"Randy, the clock's ticking," Stottlemeyer impatiently called from the front step. "Right," Disher struggled to lift up the filing cabinet and staggered toward the door. This was followed by a loud thumping and Stottlemeyer yelling, "OOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!! RANDY!!!!"

Adrian couldn't help suppressing a small laugh. He was glad that the captain and lieutenant had miraculously been free to join them on this vacation. The captain had also asked his sons (whom he was happily seeing more of now since the courts had given him extended custody rights recently) and girlfriend to join them, but they'd regretably been busy and unable to come. The detective had been able to convince another associate of his to come along, however, and there came a thumping as he now entered the den as well and set down his own boxes. "That's everything from the kitchen shelves," Dr. Charles Kroger informed Ambrose, "I'd guess it's time for us to lock up and get going."

"I guess so," Ambrose took a very deep breath, "Vacation. I thought that word would never apply to me."

"So you never went on vacation as a kid?" Natalie asked him.

"An exciting trip for us was to go up to the attic during a thunderstorm and watch the raindrops fall," Adrian shook his head, "It was fun, though, after about nine, ten years once you got used to it."

There came the blowing of a car horn out front. "Time to go catch the plane," the detective said with a shiver at the thought of boarding another plane, "Let's go Ambrose."

Ambrose nodded, but stopped once he reached the doorframe. "I...It's not...I can't go out there," he announced, retreating back slowly, "I...It's not right to just leave here."

"Now Ambrose," Dr. Kroger informed him, "Think of the opportunities this possesses for you. You can finally tell everyone you could leave this place on your own free will."

"But Philadelphia's not...here," the instruction manual writer said nervously, "And what if Dad comes back while I'm out?"

"Now Ambrose, use your head," Adrian groaned, "If he's waiting for us in Philadelphia, do you honestly think he's going to come back here while we're there?"

"Mr. Monk, please," Natalie gave him a harsh look. She took Ambrose's hand gently and told him, "Come on, you're going to like this. It's easy, just take a step out. Now another step."

Dr. Kroger took Ambrose's other hand. The two of them helped him out the door ever so slowly. Adrian shook his head as he turned the key in the lock. And Natalie complained HE was incapable of taking care of himself...

He kicked at the placemat to get rid of excess dirt smudges he'd noticed in it earlier before nodding and walking toward Natalie's car. There was a low moan from the back seat as he got in. "Are we at the airport yet?" a sleepy Julie asked him.

"No, no, we're still here," Adrian stared out the windshield as the truck drivers slid down the back door of the rental truck, which was packed from front to back with his and Ambrose's items, "You did put my non-essentials in the trunk, didn't you?"

"Mr. Monk, you saw me do it with your own eyes," she told him crossly, probably due to the early hour, "The sooner we get there, the better; all this packing's too much."

"You think you're upset," Ambrose slid into the back seat next to her, "How do you think I feel? It took me thirty-five years to get everything there in order, and now it's going to be a nightmare getting everything in place in Philadelphia once we land and hit the hotel. Which will be in exactly seven hours and thirteen minutes, assuming smooth air travel."

"Ambrose, Ambrose, please, nothing on rough air travel," Adrian looked green at the mere thought of this, "Don't get me upset before we even start. Natalie, vomit bag," he instructed her as she climbed in and started the engine, "I don't feel so good."

"We haven't even left already," she raised both eyebrows at him.

"It's never too early to start worrying about something," the detective shrugged, "Ac, Actually, I think we should stop back at my place; I think I left the water running before..."

Natalie gave a quick thumbs up to Stottlemeyer (still clutching his foot from the filing cabinet) and Dr. Kroger before quickly shifting into drive and pulling out into traffic. "Don't start, please," she told him, "I want this week to go smoothly."

"I can tell you right now, it probably won't," Adrian flicked at the air conditioner vents, "Just so you're not surprised when whatever ends up happening happens. The air flow here, it's not even, I think this vent needs fixing. Maybe we..."

A clearly audible groan from Natalie convinced him he would be foolhardy to continue the conversation. He glanced out the window as the sun started coming up in the east. "So, I guess there's a lot of interesting things we may do once we get to Philadelphia," he blurted out, "I hope it'll be...fun. At least it will be nice to see Sharona again. I hope those residual checks I asked the show producers to give her have been getting through so she doesn't strangle me once the plane lands."

"Fortunately for you they got the first one last week," Julie reassured him, "Benjy told me when he replied to me telling him about the hospital incident. I hope he's got the thirty percent for me we agreed on; there's a load of malls in the area that..."

"Hey, we're not going to shop all the time on this trip," Natalie gave her a strong look through the rearview mirror, "Given that someone could only manage a D+ in history last semester, it might help your chances of being cleared for joining any more clubs next year to pay attention when we visit the landmarks."

"I told you I would have been happy to help her out," Ambrose remarked. Then he spontaneously remarked, "I, I really think we should go back, I"m not comfortable out here..."

"Ambrose, do you want to see Dad again or not?" Adrian posed, "Because if you don't, this is your last chance to back out."

Ambrose was quiet for a moment. "Of course I want to see him," he said softly, "More than anything. But like I said before, I'm not like you Adrian. I'm not the courageous person you are--flying when you were twenty-seven and all. This is all new to me."

Adrian knew his brother had a point and decided not to press it any further. His gaze fell back to the sunrise. Hopefully whatever waited for him in Philadelphia wouldn't be too bad.

* * *

At the U.S. Mint in the City of Brotherly Love, a formally-dressed man was at that moment barging in through the main entrance. His sleep had been awakened by reports from the night watchmen that the alarms were going off--before the phone had abruptly died. His first impression was not a positive one; the doors to the main minting line had been kicked open, and the bodies of several guards lay strewn along the floor. Whoever was inside was very dangerous. But at least he'd notified the police, and they'd be there within ten minutes. 

He could hear voices coming from inside. Flattening himself against the wall, he glanced inside to see several men in military uniforms hefting crates of unminted coins around. "Faster, men, faster!" the apparent leader of the squad was barking, "The United States government can't afford to fall any further into the depths of shame it has already!"

Any further conversation he might have heard, however, was relegated to the background when something cold and metallic grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him very high up in the air. "You're here early," the person behind him said with a distinct Russian accent, "No matter. Your usefulness has already been used up."

He had the opportunity to spin around and catch a glance at his assailant before the metallic hand clamped down on his trachea. His one thought before everything went permanently black was who could possibly stop this menace...


	2. Chapter 2

Adrian gripped both armrests on the plane as tightly as he could as the plane touched down with a jolt at Philadelphia International Airport. It had not been a smooth flight to say the least; they had hit at least three pockets of turbulance along the way, and he had been holding his bladder as hard as he could for the last four hours, since the plane's bathroom had not met his specifications. He breathed a huge sigh of relief as the plane slowed down to a crawl.

"Adrian?" Ambrose piped up from the seat next to him.

"Yes, Ambrose?"

"I have a feeling we're not in San Francisco anymore."

"Yes, Ambrose, that's incredibly observant of you. It's amazing you didn't bring that up before."

"There's no need to get sardonic," Ambrose stared out the window at the terminal before them, "I, I should really get back to the house, this just doesn't seem right."

It took all of Adrian's self-composure not to yell. His attention in the meantime was distracted by the flight crew storming over to his seat, looking quiet upset. "Uh, nice flight, wasn't it?" he asked innocently.

"Up!" barked the chief steward, "For insulting the way we run this airline, you get off first!"

"I, I do have concerns over the way this flight was run," the detective tried to say something in his defense, "I think you should scrub each seat down before each flight--the windows too--and there's not nearly enough leg room for--whoa!"

In what was becoming a familiar pattern for the detective whenever he flew anywhere, the flight crew physically tossed him out the airplane's door. Sighing, he shook himself off and wandered up the gangway to the main terminal to wait for everyone else.

"Hey, look who it is!" came sudden cry from across the terminal the moment he stepped out from the gate, "It's Adrian Monk!"

The next thing Adrian knew, he was mobbed by close to a dozen eager teenagers. "Uh, hello, nice, uh, not, not so close, please," he begged as they groped at him. While he had heard the show was doing good, he didn't have any clue it was THAT popular.

"Adrian Monk, right?" asked a Hispanic boy, looked as if he were meeting the president, "We watch your show all the time; it's classic!"

"You, you do know that's just an actor playing me?" Adrian grimaced as his tuxedo was stretched by dozens of hands, "He, he is quite good, though, yes; his name's..."

"Hey, I could be wrong, which, you know, I'm not," another boy, with greasy hair, imitated Adrian's voice, "You'll thank me later, Captain. I love his song where he's loving that woman all..."

"All right, all right, what's going on over here?" announced a blond-haired man who was coming over, "Tony, you haven't been causing...?"

His own eyes went wide at the sight of Adrian. "Oh my, Adrian Monk!" he exclaimed, "What an incredible coincidence. We watch your show every week."

"That, that seems to be the pattern here," Adrian shuffled out of the throngs of his newfound admirers; things had been getting too clastrophobic among them, "You, you wouldn't happen to have a some bathroom cleaning items on you, Mr., uh..."

"Hinkley, I'm Ralph Hinkley," the man shook his hand. Adrian glanced around looking for Natalie. Unfortuantely, all of his party had been seated near the rear of the plane, and only the people from Section 10 were getting off at the moment. He wiped his hand desperately against his suit, hoping to get the germs off the hard way. This illicited more giggles from the teenagers. "I, I really fail to see the humor," he told them.

"I'm sure they'll have some wipes somewhere in the terminal here," Hinkley suggested helpfully, "Wow, this is an incredible...to actually meet the subject of a hit television show. It's amazing, isn't it Kevin?"

He glanced down at the boy of about twelve behind him. Adrian immediately noticed this boy looked far less happy than the rest of Hinkley's party. "Sure, whatever," he mumbled indifferently, "I guess we'd better get going; wouldn't want to miss anything big."

A pained look crossed Hinkley's face. "Kevin, we're going to do everything I promised we would on this trip," he begged the child, "I will not cut out on..."

"Here comes Captain Stottlemeyer!" a blond girl among the teemagers pointed at him as he and the others exited the gate. Soon Adrian's associates found themselves unexpectedly mobbed as well. "You're my favorite character," the girl gushed at the astonished Stottlemeyer, "Can I have your autograph?"

She pushed a pad and pencil at the captain, who complied numbly. "Hey, wait a minute," the greasy-haired boy complained at the sight of Natalie stepping off the plane, "You ain't that Sharon lady. Where's she?"

"No, I'm not Sharona," Natalie corrected him, "And why is it so important to you?"

"Because it's the little things like that make his whole day--or not, right Vilicana?" groused a gray haired man approaching the crowd, "Ralph, get these slackers ready to move out; check-in's within a half hour. And where's the Counselor? I thought I told..."

"You're Bill Maxwell, aren't you?" Stottlemeyer recognized him, "Everyone in the FBI that swoops down into my investigations can't help mentioning the famous Maxwell, who manages to solve every case he comes across."

"You're looking right at him, sailor," Maxwell said proudly, "And I'm now bureau chief for all of California, thanks to Carlisle deciding he finally had enough."

"Yeah you can never find enough good people at the FBI," Stottlemeyer turned away and mumbled under his breath, "Or should I say, Federal Bunch of Idiots."

"I heard that!" Maxwell snapped, "Ralph, tell him he can't insult a fine American institution like the...!"

"Relax, Bill, relax," Hinkley patted him on the shoulder. He shook hands with the rest of Adrian's party. "Like I told Detective Monk, I'm Ralph Hinkley, and it's a pleasure to meet all of you. What brings you here to Philadelphia like the rest of us?"

"Oh, just getting in touch with old times for us," Disher smiled as he autographed the girl's book, "And you?"

"I'm a special education teacher at Whitney High back in Los Angeles," Hinkley explained, "I convinced the school board that it would be good extra credit for my students to come here and learn more about American history by experiencing where it began firsthand. And so here we are. Where are you staying while you're here?"

"Best Western on Fourth Street," Dr. Kroger informed them.

"Great, that's where we're staying too!" the Hispanic boy proclaimed, "This keeps getting better and better."

"But where's the Sharon lady for the love of God?" the greasy-haired boy stuck his head in the gate, "Hey Sharon, come on out, we wanna meet ya?"

Natalie put an embarassed hand over her face. Adrian already had a deep concern that the show might not last once it came time to film the part where Sharona left him. "Uh, actually, uh, young man..." the detective told him.

"Hey come on Detective M, no need to be so informal, Tony's the name," he told him.

"Ac, Actually, Tony, Sharona's right down the stairs waiting for all of us right now," Adrian explained, "She's been waiting for us here. My Dad too, and really..."

"Sharon's downstairs, guys, let's go give that classy dame a Whitney High Welcome!" Tony waved his arm in the air, prompting all of his fellow students to follow him in a mad dash toward the escolators. Adrian watched in befuddlement at this turn of events, as was a black-haired woman who'd just been coming out of the lady's restroom and was now watching the students run out of sight. "Ralph, what has gotten into them!?" she demanded of Hinkley as she came over to him, "How'd they get that far out of control?"

"Two words for you, miss, Adrian Monk," Stottlemeyer greeted her with a wry smile.

"THE Adrian Monk?" the woman was as excited as the teenagers at the mention of Adrian's presence, "This is, this is a great pleasure to shake your hand; don't, I'll get the wipe for you from...you're not Sharona. Where's Sharona?"

Natalie put both hands on her face this time. The group headed for the escalators, Adrian gripping the railings tightly all the way. "The odds of being killed on an escalator dwarf those of being stung by a swarm of bees, or having an fatal car accident within three miles of home, or..." Ambrose started to tell him.

"AMBROSE!" Adrian raised a hand to make him stop. He once again found himself calmed when he reached the bottom of the escalator. Drawing several wipes from his available pack, he scrubbed at the moving railings on his side. "Hey man," protested an African-American member of Hinkley's group, "That ain't gonna clean the whole thing by nightfall, if that."

"If I can't I'll have to sue this whole airport for negligiance, don't really want..." he tried to say.

"Well then, you could hire me, and I could serve on your defense against whatever the airport charges out, Mr. Monk," the black-haired woman dragged him away from the escalator with a reassurig smile. "I'm Pam Davidson Hinkley, attorney at law."

"Very nice to meet you, "Stottlemeyer mumbled nearby, not actually looking at her, "If I'd had you representing me during the first set of custody hearings, we'd have blown Tepperman all the way to Oregon."

"Who?"

"Adrian, over here," came the call from the other side of the escalator. The detective looked up to see his father standing there--in a rather loud Hawaiian style Baltimore Orioles shirt. He deposited the wipe in the nearest garbage can and strolled over. "Dad," he said softly, "How's, how's it been since Christmas?"

"Could be better," Jack Monk mumbled, "They just gave Jack Jr. eighteen months for possession; I'm hoping hard time straightens out the little wretch. But at least my better boys'll be with me this week and...Ambrose."

He glanced over Adrian's shoulder at his other son. Adrian noticed the sad, almost whimpering expression his brother's face as he beheld his father for the first time in almost forty years. "Dad," he said softly, extending out his arms as he approached, "I...I...I...it's been so long."

"Yes it has," Jack allowed himself to be hugged.

"I, I brought all your mail," the instruction manual writer told him, "Just so you could read everything you got since you left."

"Every piece? Really, Ambrose, you, you shouldn't have needed to," Jack glanced at Adrian, who shrugged. "Anyway," the trucker continued, "Adrian tells me you've been working with him a couple of times over the past couple of years. It's nice to know you two can come together and do something good; you were always so, how do I put this, disattractive when you were young."

"I, I do my best," Ambrose shuffled about, "I'm glad you like that I'm doing something. I keep the house nice and organized, so you know. Where's Sharona; Adrian said you'd be meeting her here at the airport?"

"No more autographs, please," the nurse's voice from inside the pack of Hinkley's students by the nearest newsstand cued everyone into her location. She fought her way out of the throng and made her way over. "Adrian, you're here," she proclaimed at the sight of him, "You'd better have my severance pay now; I've waited long enough for it."

"Uh...didn't, didn't bring it," Adrian stared evasively at the ground, "Too, too much cataloguing of other items to..."

"Adrian, I've waited a year and a half for it!" she complained, "Don't tell me you came here flat broke!?"

"He brought nine hundred and eighty-seven dollars with him," Ambrose stated, "I got a look at the inside of his wallet earlier."

"Well thanks a lot," Adrian muttered to his brother under his breath.

The rest of the party was now approaching as well. "Well, well, so nice to see you again," Disher flashed Sharona a big, almsot idiotic grin, "You're looking lovelier than ever, you know."

"Don't bother to sweet talk me; the S.S. Fleming isn't pulling into your docks any time soon," she told him. Leaving a confused lieutenant staring nowhere in particular, she gave Natalie a big hug and asked, "So, do you still have your sanity?"

"Sanity, yes," Natalie told her, "But remember how you were jealous of me that Christmas? Seeing how much the viewers seem to like you, I may have cause to return the favor."

"Hey, don't be too uptight about it, Mrs. Teeger," Benjy had joined his mother, apparently after having signed some autographs of his own, "They'll like you in due time. If not, we can make them like you."

"Hey, there's our big writer," Stottlemeyer patted him on the shoulder, "You haven't let fame get to him, have you, Sharona?"

"That's why I make sure every check we get goes straight into the bank," the nurse told him, "We can't afford big shopping sprees, especially with no severance pay."

She gave Adrian another piercing glance. It was at this moment the buzzer sounded at the nearest luggage carousel. "That'll be us," Ambrose remarked, "Everyone better pitch in here; we've got enough here for several loads."

* * *

For whatever reason, Adrian wondered, hotel shuttle drivers in Philadelphia operated on strange principles. One they'd picked up all their items--enough to fill up thirteen luggage racks--and brought them out to the curb, five shuttle drivers had burned rubber upon seeing how much their would-be passengers had to carry onboard. Eventually, they'd managed to get four shuttles to split the loads. Then, the detective had found that the driver of the shuttle he got on had apparently had a bad childhood--this man had threatened to dump him into the street after he'd repeatedly pointed out they were going four miles an hour over the speed limit the whole way. He made a mental note to bring it up to the shuttle company if he got a chance. 

As it was, Hinkley's party was still only getting their items together outside the hotel when Adrian's "fleet" approached. "Say, are you moving in here or what, Detective M?" Tony joked upon seeing the multitude of items being dropped onto the sidewalk.

"All right Tony, that's enough," Hinkley told him. Striding over, he asked Adrian, "Need a hand with all this?"

"Just, just make sure you take them in sequential order," Adrian informed him, "Each one's numbered in order of importance."  
"That'll be just fine; hey guys, help Mr. Monk get his stuff together," the teacher called to his pupils, "Bill, go help them get that big one in the front shuttle."

"Ralph, have you gone nuts?" the federal agent protested upon taking one look at the large crate object that Adrian recognized as his refrigerator, "It'll take at least ten garbanzos to carry that thing?"

"What's the matter, Maxwell? Is the FBI suddenly not finding themselves as strong as they used to be?" Stottlemeyer snickered softly.

"Of course not; Ralph, hold up that end, I've got it," Maxwell strained himself to lift the refrigerator onto the nearest luggage rack. "Oooff, how much is in here?" he protested, "Ralph, put it down for a minute and see if you can put on..."

Hinkley cleared his throat loudly in a manner than Adrian thought was a little suspicious. With a shrug, he picked up the four highest-priority of his suitcases and lugged them into the lobby. "Not, not bad," he remarked, taking in the architecture, "But I think they could clean the rugs more. Dad?" he inquired as his father joined inside, "We're, we're not on the top floor of this place, are we?"

"There's no need to worry, Adrian; one thing I always remembered over the years was how much you don't like being high up. We're booked in on the third floor. Clerk?"

They'd reached the check-in desk. "Hello, how may I help...HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!!" the clerk's jaw dropped at the sight of the sheer volume of luggage being towed up to the desk by everyone.

"Reservation Monk," Jack handed him some slips. Numbly, the clerk typed in the information in the computer. "Rooms 303 through 309, yes," he said, "Follow me to the elevator and we'll get you people all settled in."

"Here, here's the thing, I, I can't actually take the elevator," Adrian pointed out, "Which one am I specifically?"

"Full name?"

"Monk, Adrian."

The clerk typed more information on the computer. "You're locked in for Room 304," he told him.

"Great; guys, bring it on," Adrian waved to the students carrying the rest of his luggage and sauntered towards the stairs. "You mean we gotta carry all this stuff up three flights of stairs?" the African-American boy protested, "Dang, Mr. H, this ain't my idea of a fun vacation!"

"Now Cyler, there's nothing really to complain about with this; a little help for others goes a long way," Hinkley informed him, "Maybe Mr. Monk will be willing to do something for you later on if you help him here, so come on, Rhonda, Rodriguez, let's go get..."

He stopped briefly as his own suitcase tumbled out of his arms and popped open on the floor. Adrian couldn't help noticing a quick flash of an unusually bright red object among the clothing Hinkley quickly snatched up. The detective shook his head as he trudged up the stairs, however. It was probably nothing to be concerned with at all.

The moment the clerk unlocked the door to what was to be his room, however, he shook his head firmly. "I, I can't stay in here, I'm sorry," he informed the man, "There's a cracked tile behind the radiator; it throws everything off."

"A cracked tile!?" the clerk stared at him incredulously, "You want to revoke your reservation over a cracked tile!?"

"I think it's the logical thing," the detective said, "How many other people have complained about this; it should be a big safety concern, really."

"Sir, the reservation is binding," the clerk sighed in frustration, "Now please, just unpack your items and try not to cause any more trouble while you're with us, kapeesh?"

"Well, I'd really like to see some other rooms, if..." as Adrian noticed the clerk was already stoming away, he decided not to push it any further. "All right, I'll stay here," he called down the hall, "But being in a room with a cracked tile counts as cruel and unusual punishment!"

There was no response. Shrugging, he began the long custom of unpacking his suitcases from where they'd been set down in the hall. First came the cleaning material. Adrian started the ritual of moving in by scrubbing down the bathroom after finally taking care of his bladder. This was followed by cleaning the windows--after which he pulled the blinds shut; the view was vertigo-inducing--a thorough vacuuming of the carpet, and the dusting of every surface in the room. After he was satisfied with this, he unpacked the rest of his items and started arranging them accordingly around the room, making sure they were all lined up symmetrically with each other. All the while, the rest of his and Hinkley's parties watched in the doorway in rapt wonder. When he finally put the last item in place--Trudy's picture on the nightstand--a loud applause greeted him. "Thank, thank you," he gave what passed for a bow, "That's, that's all done with now."

"I hope so, Detective M, 'cause what you've just done'll take the best out of anyone," Tony commented.

"All right guys, you were a big help with that," Hinkley commented his students, "All right, we'll be right down the hall in case you need anything, Mr. Monk."

"I'll, I'll keep it in mind," Adrian nodded, "And thank you for all the help."

Slowly everyone started dispersing to their own rooms. "So you all set, Mr. Monk?" Natalie let out a huge yawn; there were clear signs of jet lag on her face.

"I, I think so," he sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned himself, "We, we still have to get Ambrose's stuff unpacked."

"No need, I think I can handle it," Ambrose stuck his head in the door.

"Completely on your own?" Jack popped up as well. Ambrose shrugged. "Guess I could use a little help, Dad," he said.

"Good. I just know we're going to finally have fun together for once in this life," the trucker told his son, "I even got Phillies tickets for us on the Fourth of July; you're going to like that."

"Uh, Dad, Adrian did tell you I have a little trouble going outside?" Ambrose told him, "I, I don't know if I can take it being outside for three hours or so."

"Oh come on Ambrose, for once in this life you are going to enjoy yourself this week," Jack put his arm around his older son and led him back out of sight. Natalie yawned again. "Well, I really need to lie down," she informed her employer, "It's been too long a morning for me. Promise you won't cause any problems for the next three hours or so?"

"When you say problems...?" Adrian had to ask.

"Anything," she told him, "Try not to disturb me unless you're really, truly dying a painful and agonizing death. Sharona agreed to take Julie around a couple blocks while I'm asleep, so she's not going to have to watch you."

"Don't you mean I watch her?"

"You know what I mean," she gave him a vague look before yawning again and walking out the door. Adrian lay back down on the bed and stared at Trudy's picture. "Vacation," he told it, "With everyone. I wish we could have done something like this more often. At least for once, everything's going to..."

Just then Disher came running into the room. There was a look of deep concern on his face. "Uh, Monk, I think you should come on over and look at this," he said quickly.

"Huh?" Adrian rose up and followed the lieutenant back into the room he and Stottlemeyer were to share during the vacation. "Randy, would you mind telling me what about them catching whoever robbed the Mint was so terrifying?" the captain asked him sternly.

"The Mint?" Adrian glanced at the turned-on TV, which was now filled with an anchor talking away about something concerning the theft of lots of metals from the Mint.

"Monk, I turned it on; they've arrested Cathy for it," Disher told the detective.

"Cathy?"

"Cathy Trumbull," Disher's expression looked somber, "The woman I used to love when I lived here. She would never steal anything. We've got to do something, Monk."


	3. Chapter 3

"So this is where you used to work?" Adrian inquired as he and Disher entered the main Philadelphia police station.

"Yep," the lieutenant said proudly, "Some of the happiest years of my life were spent here."

"Too bad they couldn't afford to add more space to the halls," Adrian winced as they had to force their way through a large crowd of cops milling about in the hallway. He then grimaced again as a hoodlum with a thick beard and many tattoos on his face growled in the detective's face as the officer holding lead him by. "So, you were in love with this Cathy Trumbull?" he asked Disher.

"We dated for about a year and a half," Disher recalled, "There was a time I considered marrying her, but then I decided to move out west in the end. Sometimes, Monk, I do wonder how things might have turned out if I had stayed, if I had proposed..."

A wistful expression crossed his face. It disappeared just as quickly as they reached the front desk. "Excuse me, I'd like to see Cathy Trumbull, they said she was being held here?" he asked the receptionist.

"Name?" the receptionist asked in a bored, mechanical tone.

"Randall Disher, and this is Adrian Monk," the lieutenant gestured towards Adrian. The receptionist did a double take. "The defective detective?" she asked.

"That's, that's me," Adrian said, "You, you only have nine pens there."

He pointed at the coffee mug on her desk which her pens were resting in. "While we're here, could you run out a get one more to make it even?" he had to ask.

"With the shift I have to do here? Forget it, pal," she shook her head, "Meeting room's down the hall to the right; leave any metal objects outside; I'll tell them you're coming."

"I could go pick up that pen if you can't..." Adrian started to tell her.

"Next," she called out to anyone else standing around. The detective shrugged and followed Disher toward the meeting room. The officer inside was on the phone, nodding. "Cathy Trumbull?" the lieutenant asked him.

"Arms outwards," the officer picked up a metal detector and waved him down. He then attempted to do the same with Adrian, but the detective leaned backwards away from the wand. "Sir, you'll have to hold still if you want to stay here," the officer said, frustrated.

"Here, here's the thing, I can't...what about if I swear I don't have anything dangerous on me?" Adrian asked. The officer shook his head and extended the wand toward him again, prompting the detective to jump away. The officer growled. "Ah, the hell with it," he muttered, "Seat Number Two, I'll be out with her in a few minutes."

"But there's five seats in here, and no one else is in right now," Adrian told him, "It would make more sense to have the middle seat; we'll be nice and centered with..."

The officer pushed him down into Seat #2 and stormed off. Adrian pulled at the phone cord attached to the booth. "Whoever, whoever was here last didn't seem to care to put it back right," he fretted, "It's too wrinkled."

"Monk, I don't mean to sound rough, but could you keep it a little under control this time?" Disher asked him with a hopeful look. The door to the other side of the room slowly opened, and the officer led in a rather attractive young woman with long brown hair. Her eyes went wide at the sight of her guests. "Oh my God, Randy," she breathed, "It's...I..."

"Cathy," Disher put a hand against the glass, "When I heard I had to come. This is Adrian Monk, he's..."

"I know, ."the great detective," Cathy admitted, "I've read the papers. I'm glad you were able to bring him." She gave Adrian an imploring look. "Please, Monk, get me out of here, I didn't do anything wrong, I swear."

"Well I...could we move to the middle seat, it just doesn't feel right sitting here," Adrian asked. He looked at the officer, who was shaking his head. "Well, it was just a thought," he shrugged, "Well, uh, Cathy," he fiddled with the phone cord again, "I've seen that they're charging you with theft from the Mint and the murder of your supervisor, a Mr. Bert Nyquist."

"And it's all some horrible lie!" Cathy sobbed, "I respected Bert as a boss, even if I have no idea why he fired me last week! I would never have killed him for it"

"So you were terminated from your job?" Adrian produced a wipe and started on the glass between them, "Was there anything unusual about that?"

"Coins have been disappearing from the Mint for the last few weeks," Cathy related to him, "But only in very small amounts; what happened this morning was the first sizeable theft. At first we thought it was simply a production mistake. Bert was looking into the whole thing as if it were criminal, though. Then last Thursday, when I was coming in for my shift, he walked up and said he'd caught me red-handed, and I was fired. I've been trying to call him to find out what had happened since then; that's not the Bert I know who would accuse me. The strangest thing was, when he did fire me, he seemed like he was in some kind of trance, like he was under a spell of some kind."

"You don't suppose he managed to hypnotise himself beforehand?" Disher suggested, "I've seen some books in stores where you can teach yourself to..."

"Randy please, this is my life at stake!" his former love cried at him.

"It was just a theory," Disher shrugged.

"So, um, Cathy, where, where were you this morning when they found him dead?" Adrian couldn't take it anymore. He jumped over into the middle chair and leaned far to his left to keep her in his sight.

"At home in bed, wondering how my life had taken such a cruel turn," she told him, "Unfortunately, there's no way I can prove it, since I've been living alone after I threw Mike out."

"Mike?"

"My now ex-husband," Cathy said with a tormented sigh. "For three years that I wish I could have back now."

"He didn't abuse you, did he?" Disher asked, looking a bit deflated that she had married.

"No, thank God, but he did cheat on me with everyone else I know," she mumbled bitterly, "We had a couple of brutal arguments before I decided enough was enough. He swore he'd get at me for what he said was my fault before he left; I wouldn't be surprised if he somehow framed me up for this. But I don't know how he could have possibly gotten into the Mint; I never told him my security codes, and he doesn't know anyone else who works there."

"That's, that's very interesting," Adrian wiped away at the center booth's glass, "Where might we find him now, might you know, so we can check his wherabouts?"

"He's worked as a tour guide at Independence Hall for the last five years," Cathy informed him, "He's probably still at that. Just promise me that you can get me out of this, please; I've never been so scared...I'm not a murderer or a thief. You know that, right, Randy?"

She gave him a deep, imploring look of hope. "Of course I do," Disher put his hand back to the glass, this time directly across from hers, "And we will clear your name for this, won't we Monk?"

The only answer he got was a louder scraping as the detective kicked his campaign against the glass into overdrive. "That's a yes," the lieutenant said. He stared at her with a certain amount of affection. "You know, there are times I wish that things, well, had turned out a little differently," he told her.

"As do I," she nodded softly, "Especially now. If this..."

"I'm afraid your time's up," the officer announced, "And I think it's clean enough."

He pried Adrian away from the glass. "You, you should have a professional look at that," he informed the officer as they left the room, "That's a major problem there."

"Tell me, who's assigned to her case?" Disher inquired over his shoulder at the officer.

"Lieutenant Colton, if it's really that important," their associate told him.

"Wonderful," Disher snapped his fingers.

"Old friend?" Adrian asked.

"Luckily for us," Disher was now tiptoing across the bullpen. Adrian's wondering of why was answered--sort of--as he stopped behind a heavyset African-American cop doing paperwork at his desk and stuck a finger into his back. "Reach for the sky, Danny boy," he whispered.

The man turned around. "Randy Disher!" he exclaimed, giving the lieutenant's hand a vigorous pumping, "Fancy seeing you around here again. And Adrian Monk, the famous Adrian Monk," he shook the detective's hand hard, "You know, my wife got hooked on that show about you from the first episode. And I told her, 'I happened to know the real Lieutenant Disher from a few years ago.' That guy's pretty accurate playing you, too."

"So you and Randy are old friends, I take it?" Adrian wiped his hands down hard with another wipe.

"Joined the same day. Lieutenant Daniel Colton," Colton extended his arm again, but stopped. "Oh yeah, I forgot, you've got that thing with shaking...why are you looking away from me?"

"Your, your tie, it doesn't match at all," Adrian stared at the floor, too distraught by the tie to look at Colton, "I, don't take this the wrong way, but it just doesn't seem like..."

"Tell you what, we'll just take the tie right out of the equation," Colton said. Adrian heard the sound of the cop's collar shuffling. He dared to look up and saw Colton take off the tie and place it in his desk drawer. "Is that better?" the Philadelphia cop asked.

"Just one more thing," Adrian set about rearranging the items on Colton's desk until they were all lined up properly. "Much better," he proclaimed when he was done, "So, anyway, we were told that you were assigned to Cathy Trumbull's case?"

"You've got that right," Colton shook his head sadly, "I didn't want to believe it--Cathy always was a very nice lady, I met her a few times when Randy was still here--but I'm afraid it looks like an airtight case here. Every bit of evidence points at her. Take a look."

He pulled a file from his desk. "She had motive and opportunity," he told them, "And only someone who worked at the Mint would have been able to get in and disarm the alarms and security cameras. And her fingerprints were the only ones we found at the scene. Plus, when we searched her house afterwards, we found several boxes of coins in her closet. Mint officials confirmed they came from their processing lines."

He held up a photograph of Cathy's closet. "Oh yes, I can see," Adrian squinted at it, "The coins do have the Mint's P stamped on them; this is the only processing center in the country that would give them that. How was this Bert Nyquist killed?"

"His neck was broken," Colton informed him, "We found him by the storage room that was cleaned out this morning. Coroner says he died in seconds."

"Something does not make sense here," Adrian remarked as he stared at the photos of Nyquist's body, "If Cathy had been stealing coins on a small scale before and had been fired for it, why would she risk coming back and stealing a larger amount? It would be complete suicide."

"Were there any witnesses at all?" Disher asked Colton.

"That's the strangest thing," Colton told him, "The night watchmen were found unconscious outside the control center. They're still out cold as we speak, so they couldn't tell us anything, but the door to the room was ripped clean off it's hinges. A solid steel door, mind you. I would never have never thought anyone could do something like that, including Cathy, but we found her prints on the handles, too. You have to wonder..."

"I can tell you right now she didn't do it," Adrian announced.

"You do?" Colton looked hard at him, "How can you be sure, Monk?"

"Take a good look at Nyquist's neck here," Adrian held the photo toward him, "The wounds have a radius of close to thirty-five inches. Cathy Trumbull's hand only has a radius of twenty-four inches. Plus look at the way his body fell. It's almost as if his attacker lifted him off the ground as he killed him. Nyquist was almost a hundred pounds heavier than Cathy; I doubt she could have picked him up while strangling him."

"You noticed her hand radius when we were with her, Monk?" Disher was impressed.

"It's a blessing and a curse," Adrian told him. "The real strange thing is," his face grew thoughtful, "These wounds look too even for an ordianry hand, almost as if something mechanical caused his death."

"Maybe the killer put his throat in a vise and crushed it," Disher proposed.

"A vise, Randy?" Colton raised his eyebrows at his former associate.

"A big vise," Disher said. Seeing the doubtful expressions from both Colton and Adrian, he added, "A really, really, really big vise."

Colton shook his head. "Some thing's never change," he confided in Adrian, "Your friend here once suggested a runaway elephant killed a hit and run victim on Spring Garden Street. That's how I know those TV guys are doing an accurate job on him, whenever they have him make some outlandish suggestion. "But yeah, now that you point that out, Monk, that is rather strange now that I look at it. Won't be enough to clear, Cathy, though, not with her prints all over the place. I don't suppose you've got an answer for that, do you?"

"No, not yet," Adrian stared at the photo of Nyquist again, "But she's definitely not the guy."

* * *

"...justice was handed down today to the so-called Magic Kingdom Killer," the WTXF Ten O'Clock News achor was reporting later that evening, "Former Walt Disney Company COO Roger Chalmers was sentenced by a California court to life without parole for two murders committed to cover up his embezzling actions. Chalmers's attorneys have stated they will appeal the verdict. Chalmers was already convicted on two counts of fraud and embezzling and received a ten year sentence for those crimes. In another high profile case, damaging testimony was read in the trial of a former San Francisco financial mogul. Film director Karen Stottlemeyer today told another California court that she personally saw Nicolas Hallett of the former Schmidt and Hallett Financial House murder his partner Arthur Schmidt, and that Hallett attempted to blackmail her to keep it covered up." 

"Well, I think we did good," Adrian confided to Trudy's picture as he reclined on his bed back at the hotel. It always was good to see the murderers he caught face justice for their actions. (life in prison was always his preferred sentence for them; it wouldn't be good, he felt, to essentially do the same things to them that they did to their victims. Trudy had shared this sentiment, writing several columns during her brief career arguing against the death penalty) "Now if I could only make progress in other cases..."

He stroked her photo lovingly. Colton had been kind enough to make unofficial copies of Cathy's case for his benefit now that the detective had convinced him there was more to it than met the eye. He had examined it for several hours, but had not been able to find anything new yet.

In the meantime, he and his party had explored the area around the hotel once he and Disher had gotten back--except for Ambrose, who, much to his father's disappointment, had made it clear he had little plans for leaving his hotel room for the rest of the trip (fortunately, the instruction manual writer had discussed this with the rest of the group before they'd left for Philadelphia, and an agreement had been reached wherein he would still get to see the sights of the city. Julie had given him one of her spare cell phones, which had one of those cameras inside, and would set her regular one to camera mode as well so that Ambrose could see whatever she was capturing). They had all had dinner in the hotel's lounge--although Adrian hadn't been able to stay till the end of the meal, for the manager had tossed him out after the detective had lodged too many complaints about how out of order the restaurant was. While he had been there, though, he'd learned that Sharona had transferred out of New York City to a hospital in Bloomfield and was still managing to make essentially the same amount of money there as in the city. She also didn't mind being a minor celebrity now, for many of her co-workers had started watching the show as well.

Now they were all settling in for the first night in what was shaping up to be a very enjoyable week. Adrian had taken care to memorize where all the fire escapes in the building were, and what the quickest ways out in case of an emergency would be. He'd also made specific arrangements with the hotel's santiation staff (of which they hadn't been completely receptive) on the exact details of how he wanted his room cleaned while he was out seeing the sights. It had taken five pieces of paper for them to carefully note every little detail of this plan. But as they seemed to be professionals, Adrian wasn't too concerned.

There abruptly came a loud blast of music from down the hall. Adrian's hands went over his ears. It had to have been Hinkley's students; he'd definitely noticed that cases containing musical instruments had been among their luggage. He rose to his feet and hustled down the hall to their room two doors down from his. "What in God's name are you doing in there!?" he demanded as he pounded on the door.

"Hey, hey, Detective M, you're just in time," Tony led the now puzzled detective into their room, "How'd you like to jam with L.A. Freeway?"

"J-Jam? Well, as long as we put it back in the jars afterwards, I guess..."

"Hey Rodriguez, let him have your guitar," Tony instructed his classmate.

"First, first let me go get a few things," Adrian scurried back to his room to get as many wipes as he could. Once he returned, he gave what was to be his guitar a thorough scrubbing down. "You'll thank me later," he told the amazed Rodriguez, "So, what, what are we playing?"

"It's a newer one we just came up with," Rhonda told him, "We're going to be playing it in the lounge tomorrow night. Just start in C and follow along."

"I've, I've got a better idea," Adrian proposed, "Why don't we start in A and go from there?"

"Because this song was written to start in C, man, that's why," Cyler pointed out.

"But starting in A makes a lot more sense," the detective said, "Anyone with a taste of music can tell...one minute."

He walked over to the portable speakers and twisted the dials until there were all at 50. "There, all nice and even in the middle," he proclaimed, "So let's get this show going."

Tony gave him a strange look. "OK guys, one and two and three, take it," he told the band. Adrian plucked away at the guitar lightly--no reason taking chances in case he missed any germs on the strings--and launched into a song that was surprisingly less strident than he'd intially expected. Even so, Hinkley came in through the door within a minute. "Come on you guys, could you please keep it down?" he asked them, "Kevin's trying to sleep, and the manager just called up. And are you bothering Mr. Monk?"

"No we ain't botherin' him, Mr. H, he came in on his own," Tony protested, "Didn't ya, Detective M?"

"Uh, sort of, we're, we're just, just jamming," Adrian proclaimed, "But I don't think anyone brought the peanut butter."

"All right, I hate to break up the fun, but I suggest it's time to hit the sack, because we've got a very busy day tomorrow," Hinkley told his students to groans, "I'd like to be at Independence Hall by ten at the latest. Don't complain, you're going to like it, trust me."

"And remember, starting in A works much better," Adrian told them as he exited into the hall. "Nice, nice kids," he told te teacher, "A little wild, but decent."

"Sometimes it seems I'm the only one who cares about them," Hinkley mused, "They need something in their lives to get them interested in things, and this trip seemed like a good idea. By the way, if your and your group would like to join us on the tour, you're more than welcome to."

"Actually, Mr. Hinkley..."

"You can call me Ralph, actually."

"Well, Ralph, I was hoping to go to Independence Hall anyway, I'd like to meet someone there," Adrian told him. Cathy's ex-husband was his top suspect in Bert Nyquist's murder until he saw stronger evidence otherwise. "So you'll probably see me anyway. Not my brother, though; he's determined not to leave his hotel room; too much going outside can be hazardous to his health, it seems."

"Yes, "I was wondering why he had put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door so early," Ralph explained, "Anyway, I also met Natalie in the hotel coffee shop earlier while you were away, once she got up from her nap. When did you hire her?"

"It was about three years ago or so," Adrian related to the teacher all the relevant events in his life since the current point in the TV series. Ralph nodded softly at various points. "Well, you can't really be too upset," he stated at the end, "Everyone should be free to follow their own choices in life, Sharona included. But at least she's doing good, now that Benjy's written the show. When did you know he had it in mind?"

"Oh, he always wanted to be a writer," Adrian told him, "Then about two Christmases ago when he and his mother came back for the holidays, he'd written a film script about me. When I caught the Magic Kingdom Killer, I convinced Disney to buy it, and to make a long story short, it evolved into the series you watch every Friday. I'm as proud of him as Sharona is."

"As well you should be," Ralph smiled, "It is very well-written; better than most shows out there today, I think. And let me say, I hope you do end up finding whoever killed your wife. It's easy to imagine the horrible pain you must live in without her."

"It's like every little bit of happiness got sucked out of the world," Adrian admitted with a dismal expression, "A good part of me died with her. You should never have to go through it with your wife."

"I pray every day nothing like that ever happens to Pam," Ralph told him, "There have been a few close calls, but luckily nothing ever..."

It was then that the sound of the television from Adrian's room went unexpectedly up behind them. "...this late breaking bulletin, Ralph's star admirers would like to see him again soon," the anchor could be heard saying. Adrian jerked around. "Huh?" he exclaimed, rushing back into the room, "That's very strange, I thought I heard..."

"Yes, you heard correctly," the anchor said, "Ralph's heavenly friends would like to see him on the roof in five minutes. In other news, city officials are questioning the mayor's proposed zoning plan, saying it..."

The volume on the set went back to normal. Adrian stared at Ralph. "What was that all about?" he asked increduously.

"Um, I would have no idea," Ralph shrugged quickly, "Probably just some interference with the signal or something. Um, listen, it's been nice talking with you, I'd better head off to bed myself, so good night."

There was definitely something evasive in his expression, Adrian thought. After Ralph had run out the door, the detective pushed the door almost all the way closed and stuck his ear to the crack. "...message from them," he could make out Ralph saying from up the hall, "They want to meet us."

"And they gave you that message in Monk's room?" it was Pam, "Wasn't that a bit risky on their part?"

"Maybe they found Ralph had his turned off and decided they'd be better off using the nearest available TV," Maxwell argued, "Did they say the roof, Ralph?"

"In five minutes," teacher said.

"All right; Counselor, get the suit ready; Ralph, let's go see what the green guys want this time," the FBI agent said. Adrian frowned deeply. Green guys? Something was definitely going on here. Could it somehow be related to Cathy Trumbull's case, he wondered? Could the clean-cut teacher perhaps be a spy of some sort, or worse?

There was only one way to find out. He waited until he heard footsteps pass by his room, and the door to the stairs being swung open down the hall. Once the door clicked shut, he opened his door, checked to make sure no one else was around (since his party had already retired for the night, their doors were shut tight), then made a beeline for the stairs himself. He followed the footsteps up the stairs to the very top of hotel (making sure he stayed against the railing on the wall and didn't look at the inner railing; the view down the gap in the middle of the stairwell at more than two stories was vertigo-inducing), bursting through the roof door with a loud clatter. "All right, what's going on here?" he called to Ralph and Maxwell, who wheeled in surprise. "You!?" the FBI agent exclaimed.

"You're both up to something, "Adrian advanced toward him, "Would you like to tell me...?"

And then something caught his attention in the sky. At first he thought it was merely the lights from a passing jet. Then he realized it definitely wasn't a jet...in fact it seemed to be about the size of a large blimp. He blinked hard. It was still coming toward them on the roof. "It's not possible," he whispered, "It can't be..."

"Oh yes it most certainly can," Ralph looked awestruck as well. Seconds later, the object settled directly overhead, revealing clearly that it was a humungous glowing spaceship. Adrian's hand went for his wrist. His pulse was still there, sped up significantly but still functioning, so he wasn't dying. But what other explanation could there be for a large extraterrestrial vehicle having descended upon them?

The next thing the detective knew, a bright light shot down from the spaceship's undercarriage, bathing them in a strange light. It made such a whooshing noise that Adrian couldn't hear the scream he was giving at the top of his lungs. And then everything went blank for him.

When he came to, he was lying on his back, staring at a blank ceiling. He jolted upwards and took note that he was on an operating table in a white room. A low humming noise was audible coming from...somewhere. Adrian rubbed his eyes hard. Ordinarily such a sparse and clearly sterilized room would have been a godsend to be in, but now he was panicked beyond belief.

"Oh not again!" came Maxwell's voice from his left. The FBI agent and Ralph were on tables of their own on either side of the detective, looking like they were familiar with whatever was going on.

"May, may I please ask what's going on here!?" Adrian lept to his feet, "If this supposed to be some kind of joke, let me..."

The steel doors to the room abruptly slid open. Adrian's eyes went wide as saucers as he saw see a greenish...creature coming toward them. It looked like some kind of Tiki statue with an anglerfish reel on its head, and it was looking straight at...him. He felt for his pulse again. Still there. He pinched himself several times for good measure. Yes, he was alive, but that was about all he understood. The creature extended it's hand--or what passed for a hand--toward him, prompting Adrian to lean as far back as he could. "I, I, I...here, here, here's...I can't shake...shake..shake," he stammered nervously.

"It's a listening device," Ralph pointed to the round object in the creature's hand, "You have to put it in your ear to understand what they'll be saying."

"In my EAR!!??" Adrian blanched, "Oh no, no, no, I won't, not...do you even know if these things are sanitized!? If he wants to communicate, why doesn't he use hand signals like everyone...what am I even saying, this can't be happening!"

"Let me," Ralph took the device out of the creature's hand and fit it into Adrian's ear before he could continue. Adrian started to take a swipe at it, but his hand stopped in midair as another creature entered the room. This one looked more human--but that was a relative term, since it was definitely as alien as its associate. "Mr. Hinkley, Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Monk, come this way," it said, gesturing out the door.

"Will someone PLEASE explain what's going on here!!??" Adrian found himself shrieking.

"They want to tell us something," the teacher informed him, "But why they would bring you up too, I don't know, they don't usually..."

"Mr. Monk's assistance will be vital to this special assignment as well," the bigger alien said, "We must hurry."

"Oh well," Maxwell shrugged, "might as well get this over with while we're here. Come on, Monk, this won't be too long...I don't think."

Adrian hesitantly followed the two of them out the door. He found himself in what was a large control room, with blinking equipment everywhere. Several monitors filled the wall in the front of the room, and one thing on them stood out to the detective: they were apparently now off the earth itself and sailing toward Mars. He jerked about in place, a severe case of acrophobia kicking in. "What is it?" the larger alien asked him.

"Do you really have to bring us up this high!?" Adrian walked over to the nearest console and flicked several switches with his elbow so they were all in the up position. He regretted this immediately, for this caused the ship to start rocking from side to side. The smaller alien threw the switches back to their regular positions and made irritated chattering noises at him. "What is so wrong with you coming down to meet us on the ground?" the detective continued protesting, "And why couldn't you have made all these dials the same color; it would have been so much easier on the eyes."

"Mr. Monk, this is a serious matter," the larger alien informed him, "Your planet faces imminent danger. The menace seeking to destroy it is more powerful and horrible than you or anyone else can imagine."

"He's got herpes AND ebola?" Adrian gasped.

"What is this menace?" Ralph asked the alien, apparently familiar with him.

"There are others like ourselves," the alien explained, "With purposes less enlightened. Years ago, they too came to this planet and gave a gift to another like you."

"You mean...there's others out there with a suit like this?" the teacher was intrigued.

"Not like that," the alien shook its head, "More powerful, and suited for evil. The time has come for him to serve their purposes. Within five days, he will carry out their plans for your planet."

"That, that won't involve dumping garbage on every major city on the planet?" Adrian raised his hand.

"If the shadows of the future are not changed, this will be your planet's fate," the alien turned toward the central viewscreen on the wall in front of them. His smaller companion flicked several switches. A new image popped up on the screen: that of a vast desert with no signs of life anywhere. Adrian stared intently at the image. Even though the destruction of civilization--if that was what his hosts were supposed to be insinuating--would likely mean the end of germs and disorganization on Earth, the images were still chilling. "Nothing will remain," the larger alien said softly, "Yours is but one in billions among planets; very few garden worlds remain. You must stop this no matter what the cost. Hurry."

The smaller alien through a few more switches. Another blinding light flashed, and the next thing Adrian knew, he was back on the hotel roof, staring at the spaceship as it receded away into the heavens and disappeared from sight. He did one more pulse check: normal. On instinct, he reached for his ear. There was nothing there. Had it all been some bizarre fantasy?

"Ralph!" Pam approached them, snapping the detective out of his funk, "Ralph, what happened this time?"

"Pam, it was terrible," the teacher explained grimly, "There's someone else out there with another suit; he's going to destroy the world if we don't do something."

"Counselor, give him the jammies," Maxwell ordered, "We've got to get cracking now if we want to bring this loser down, whoever he is."

Pam handed something to Ralph. Adrian recognized it as the red object he'd noticed fall out of the teacher's suticase earlier. "You know, Bill, why now?" Ralph started griping as he walked behind a generator, "Why choose now when if he's had the suit for so long?"

"Who knows, Ralph, maybe these other green guys he's working for were off destroying some other world; I don't know," Maxwell shrugged. Adrian grimaced as he heard the sound of a zipper being undone behind the generator. He stared hard at the ground; the last thing he wanted to do was be on the roof with a naked man, but his legs had somehow lost the ability to move.

"Well I'll tell you one thing, it's not the least bit fair," Ralph continued complaining. Apparenlt both he and his associates had forgotten Adrian's presence with them. "I'll tell you both right now, even with this happening, I am NOT missing any time with Kevin this time, so just so you know, Bill, except under the extremest of cases, I'll only do the work after ten o'clock. Well, here goes nothing."

Adrian dared to look up from the ground, and saw that Ralph was now clothed in a ridiculous superhero-type outfit with a long cape and insignia on the chest. His eyes went even wider, however, when Ralph ran forward and took off FLYING into the air, spinning head over heels and screaming as he went. The detective did one more pulse check; it was still going strong, so SOMETHING had to be wrong with him this time. Flying men and aliens?

The whole thing had become too much to bear, and he had only one thought in mind on how to handle it. He turned and barreled back down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him until he found himself in front of the door to the room Dr. Kroger and his father were sharing. He began pounding hard on the door. "DR. KROOOGERRRR!" he shrieked loud enough to wake the whole hotel.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, Adrian, let me get this straight," Dr. Kroger asked him. They were seated in chairs arranged as closely as possible to the ones in the psychiatrist's office in the latter's hotel room. "You followed Ralph Hinkley to the roof, and then thought you were abducted by aliens and saw him fly?"

"It, it does sound very strange," Adrian was shaking his head, "And I haven't been taking the medication, honestly. But could have I met...aliens, who told me the world was about to end."

"I see," Dr. Kroger mumbled. He shot a glance at Adrian's father, who was lying wide awake in bed taking in the whole conversation with a slightly incredulous expression. "Well, Adrian," the psychiatrist said slowly, "It has been a long day for all of us. You've been up since four o'clock this morning; it would be reasonable that you drifted off and dreamt something like that."

"So...I could have been asleep the whole time?" Adrian thought it over, "That's the rational explanation, but it all seemed so real. The man seemed to be actually flying--badly, but flying."

"Well Adrian, we were up in the air all morning, and you had several substantial conversations with Mr. Hinkley," Dr. Kroger told him, "The unconscious mind does tend to put together connected but unrelated images during R.E.M. phases. If I were you, I would just go back to sleep, and you probably won't go through it again."

"Right, right, it's only a dream, after all," Adrian forced a laugh, "It was all just some wild dream, that's all. That puts my mind at ease."

He laughed harder. Jack shook his head. "Well, whatever you do, try and get a good night's sleep, Adrian," the trucker told his son, "I put together a lot of time and effort to set this whole trip up; I don't want you going to pieces on all of us."

"I'll, I'll be fine," Adrian reassured him. He strolled out the door, now feeling much calmer, almost running into Pam in the hall. "Oh, Mr. Monk," she blanched to a degree at the sight of him, "Look, uh, about earlier tonight..."

"Oh, you won't believe the dream I just had about your husband," Adrian told her loudly, "He, he was flying in a bright red suit, it was kind of funny now that I think of it."

He punctuated this by letting out a very loud laugh that prompted people all up and down the hall to start yelling at him to be quiet from inside their rooms. "Boy, I really must have had a longer day than I thought to have a dream like that," he continued.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so," the attorney remarked slowly, "Well, I guess we'll see each other tomorrow at Independence Hall, once you get, um, back to sleep."

"Indeed, you, you have a nice night," Adrian wished her good night. True, he thought he heard her let out something that sounded like an exhale of relief as he entered his room, and true, he noticed his bed was still perfectly made, strange given that he'd just been dreaming. But he figured that, being who he was, he'd probably made it in his sleep before he'd left to see Dr. Kroger. "What a dream," he confided in Trudy's picture as he climbed under the sheets, "And yet, it somehow seemed so real."

* * *

"He was flying?" Natalie asked incredulously the next morning as her employer related his dream to her as they all walked down Market Street toward Independence Hall, "And I thought you were crazy enough when you were awake." 

"It was incredibly bizarre," Adrian shook his head, "Good, good thing it was only a dream, though. Oh boy, that would have strained my belief in the laws of physics. But at least I can LOL about it now...we'll be LOLing about it for a long time now."

"Hey, need a wipe?" a drunk abruptly staggered up to him. Adrian lurched away from the man, "I think my box in the alley needs rearranging, care to help?" he continued slurrily.

"Care to get a fat lip if you don't leave the man alone?" Stottlemeyer walked over and held a fist in the drunk's face, prompting him to take off. "Well Monk, it looks like fame's more than it's cracked up to be," the captain told his associate.

"Just, just so as long as the next derranged fan who comes up is cleaner, it's not too bad," Adrian said. Since the show had premiered, people had been coming up to him in the streets every now and then. Some had wanted autographs, while others had merely wanted to poke fun at him. He was trying to put up with it as best he could, and so far it wasn't too bad. "Well, with any luck, Cathy Trumbull's ex-husband will be who we get at the hall," he said next, "That way if he wants to confess, it'll be in front of others...gum wrapper."

He'd noticed it against the curb. Producing his handy trash claw, which he'd been careful to bring with him in case of an emergency like this, he picked it up and deposited it inside the nearest trash can. "That's solved," he proclaimed, "That could have been dangerous if they'd left it out longer."

"And what the heck, you've only got the whole city left to clean up while you're here," Sharona pointed out with a certain degree of sarcasm. She then turned to Disher and told him, "So, you did have a love life before you ended up with us?"

"Well yes in fact I did," Disher responded somewhat defensively, "And Cathy happens to be a very nice woman, like a bouquet of roses."

"So enlighten me, if she's roses, what variety am I, since you hit on me every way imaginable when I was in San Francisco?" the nurse had to know.

"Uh," Disher thought long and hard, "Actually, can I get back to you on that? That's a pretty tough one."

There came the sound of a beeping. Dr. Kroger activated his cell phone. "Good morning, Harold," he said into it, "I only have a minute to..."

Adrian couldn't stop himself from leaning toward the phone. "He's here with me on vacation, here in Pennsylvania!" he taunted Harold, "Try and top that, ha!"

"You just wait and see, buster!" Harold shouted back from across the country, "You haven't seen anything from me yet!"

"Just admit it, you lost!" Adrian told him off, "I've got...!"

"Adrian, Adrian, this is a private call," Dr. Kroger held the phone away from him, "I suggest you not intrude; how would you feel if Harold were to do the same to you? Anyway, as I was saying, Harold, if you've been experiencing any problems..."

He stepped backwards and out of Adrian's earshot. Independence Hall loomed ahead of them as another cell phone could be heard among them clicking on. "All right, I'm switched on now," Julie told Amborse back at the hotel, "Can you see everything?"

"About as clear as is possible with this technology," came Ambrose's disembodied voice on the phone, "I can see the steeple of the building, and the line forming over there by the front door."

"I still wish you could have been able to come out here with us, Ambrose," Jack leaned forward toward the phone, "I had high hopes we could do this together."

"One step at a time, Dad, that's what Natalie tells me all the time; one step at a time," he son said somewhat wistfully. They approached the back of the tour line, next to a sign saying that the next one would begin in about five minutes. As it was, Ralph's group was right in front of them. "Well, good morning to you, Mr. Monk," the teacher greeted him, "I hope you slept well."

"I did, in fact I had the most astounding dream about you last night, it was, it was LOLable," Adrian laughed hard out loud again, "We met a bunch of aliens and you were flying. It's so ridiculous it's almost criminal."

"Mr. H flying?" Tony laughed himself, "You sure you ain't doin' hard drugs, Detective M?"

"I wondered that myself; thank God it was only a dream," Adrian straightened out the waiting list sign. "Uh, Mr. Maxwell," he noticed the FBI agent wandering around under a nearby tree on his own cell phone, "It says to keep off the grass."

"Who cares, Monk?" Maxwell told him dismissively, "I'm in the middle of a federal call right now with my top guy in L.A.; if they don't like me standing here while I'm on the phone let them sue me. Yeah Eppes, you were saying?" he returned to his call, "Down to two neighborhoods on the guy? You're using what theorem? Oh never mind, just try and have him in within the next twenty-four hours. Yeah, you're doing good, Eppes; maybe you'll have my job some day. Keep in touch, but not while I'm seeing the sights. Right. Do you believe it," he remarked to anyone who cared to listen, "Using some incomprehensive equation to find where a serial killer's hiding out. The young guys in this bureau never fail to make me wonder why I got into this racket."

"I'll bet, " Stottlemeyer mumbled as Maxwell returned to the line, "And maybe you'll also care to consider why they feel the need to always infringe on people's rights when they try and solve the cases you give them."

"Was that another shot, Captain," Maxwell glared at him, "I'll have you know that this organization--of which my man Eppes happens to be a fine servant--would never infringe on people's rights on a case; that's just some rubbish the liberals think up to run us through the mud."

"Oh do tell," Stottlemeyer's gaze was fixed on Maxwell's shirt, which read HAPPINESS IS A WARM PISTOL. There came the ringing of a bell as a rather drab-looking man who hadn't shaved in a while approached the line. He was clad in a colonial uniform. "Everyone, if I could have your attention please," he announced in a bored voice, as if he'd given the spiel that was coming too many times, "My name's Mike, and I'll be your guide for this fun-filled trip through Independence Hall. Feel free to ask any questions you may have at any time. Yes, you there?"

"Yes, Mike," Adrian raised his hand, recognizing Cathy's ex from his copy of the case file, "I, I do have a few questions, but out of good spirit, I'll save them for the end of the tour."

"Well then, let's go inside," Mike waved everyone forward after him, "Independence Hall, first known as the State House of the Province of Pennsylvania, was built between 1732 and 1756. We are heading now into the Assembly Room, where some of the most famous events in this country's history took place. Take note as you look...what are you doing?"

Adrian had been in the process of climbing over the barrier between the guests and the historic artifacts. "I'm, I'm sure you noticed, some of the inkwells have three pens and some have only two," he pointed out, "I was just going to even them out, if it's OK with the National Park Service and all."

"No sir, it's not OK," Mike glared at him, "We take great pride in preserving the artifacts from the birth of this nation."

"But on the other hand, these are the Founding Fathers we're talking about," the detective countered, "I think they of all people would have wanted future generations of Americans to stand up for the right to demand even distribution of pens."

Mike put a hand over his face, "Anyway, this was where, in 1775, delegates from all the thirteen colonies met to discuss..." he started again.

"Not, not all the thirteen colonies," Adrian pointed out, "Georgia didn't send representatives to the First Contental Congress, and didn't officially join the Second one until after it had begun."

"Additionally," came Ambrose's disembodied voice from Julie's cell phone, "While we think of the thirteen original colonies as a cohesive unit today, there could have ended up beig more than thirteen. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia had strong American leanings in their population, and had the American invasion of Quebec early in the war succeeded, they may have joined as well."

"These guys knows more than you, pal," Tony teased Mike, "Maybe they should be the guides instead."

"All right, all right," Mike waved his arms for attention, "Anyway, the First Continental Congress discussed ways to avoid war with Great Britain, and set the date for a reconvention the following year. When the Second Continental Congress met, things had become a full-fledged war, so they decided it was time to act for independence. In that..."

"Aren't you forgetting the last attempt at reconcilliation?" Ralph pointed out, "Because they gave the king one last chance to address their grievances peacefully, and spelled that out in a petition they entitled, anyone remember?"

He looked at his students, who clearly had no idea what he was talking about. In the meantime, Benjy's hand shot up. "It was the Olive Branch Petition, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Absolutely, the Olive Branch Petition," the teacher nodded, "Seriously, you guys," he frowned at his pupils, "This doesn't make you good at all. I told you to look over your notes before you came here."

"Hey come on, Mr. H, it's summer vacation, do you think people really care after June starts?" Rodriguez protested.

"This is very important material," Ralph stressed, "That's why it's crucial that you know what happened over two hundred years ago. You might take you freedoms for granted today, but put yourselves in these guys' shoes. They were taking a huge risk by declaring independence. Had the revolution failed, they likely all would have been hanged as traitors by royal authorities. There was no way of knowing they would succeed, particualrly since General Washington was being pounded by British regulars on Long Island, and no other force the Americans had mustered to date had done that well. But they were willing to take a chance for what they believed in, staying here in this room in ninety degree heat for weeks on end trying to find better lives for this land. I think that commands a certain amount of respect form us. Anyway, as I was saying, they sent the Olive Branch Petition to London, and when George III refused to receive it, then they decided that indpendence was the course to take."

"And so," Mike tried to regain control of his tour, "On July 4, 1776 they approved the creation of this country through the Declaration of Independence."

"Although events weren't quite that compact," Adrian pointed out, "The delegates had already voted for independence--after much heated deliberations back and forth between those delegates who favored breaking with England, and those who still wanted reconciliation--with the passing of the Lee Resolution two days earlier on July 2nd. July 4th was the day the Declaration was formally ratified, and it wasn't until August 2nd that they all signed it."

"Plus, the Liberty Bell was not rung to announce the signing, contrary to popular belief," came Ambrose's voice, "Indpendence Hall's bell tower was out of order at the time."

"Guess the Liberty Bell wasn't all it was cracked up to be then, huh?" Tony joked.

"The Liberty Bell didn't crack until the 1840s," Ambrose pointed out to him over the phone.

"Moving right along," Mike was now getting quite frustrated at being upstaged, "The signers eventually agreed on a clause after much deliberation back and forth..."

"Forty-eight seperate edits were made to Thomas Jefferson's original draft," Ralph jumped in again, "Now tell me you guys at least read about some of these changes that were made?"

"There was the clause blaming the British for the slave trade," Adrian piped up again, "Which Jefferson agreed to cut after a cabal of Southern delegates--led by Edward Rutledge of South Carolina, who ironically would later free his own slaves--threatened to walk out if it wasn't removed."

"Hey, Jefferson did up his own slaves, you know that?" Cyler mumbled toward the detective, who nodded, "Why'd he even bother putting that bit in in the first place?"

"Because Jefferson was a thinker ahead of his time," his teacher pointed out, "And good work on Sally Hemmings; I'm glad some of you read on that. Now besides Jefferson and Rutledge, can you name any other signers of the Declaration?"

"Uh, Ben Franklin, John Hancock, the guy who has the beer company..." Rhonda ticked off a few off the top of her head,

"Samuel Adams," Ralph nodded.

"Uh, that's about all, Mr. H."

"Benjamin Rush, Thomas McKean, Caesar Rodney, Charles Carroll, Elbridge Gerry, James Wilson, Dr. Lyman Hall, John Witherspoon, Richard Henry Lee, Samuel Chase, Richard Stockton, Francis Hopkinson, Josiah Bartlett..." Adrian ticked off several of the Signees' names.

"Hey, he time traveled?" Tony looked impressed.

"No, not the guy from The West Wing," Ralph pointed out, "The real life Josiah Bartlett was a doctor from New Hampshire who..."

"Well, I guess you folks don't need me anymore," Mike threw up his hands in surrender.

"Before you go, Mike, I still have that question," Adrian raised his hand again, "How do you take someone's fingerprints and move them to another place?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mike demanded.

"Cathy Trumbull. I have a suspicion you helped frame her for the Mint robbery," the detective told him, "Perhaps you'd like to tell us all, while we're here, how you managed to make it look so convincingly that she did it."

Mike's face turned noticeably darker. "This tour's over," he proclaimed, "All of you leave this minute."

He herded them all out the door and slammed it shut behind them. "Well, I'd say he's pretty guilty, don't you, Monk?" Disher asked.

"He's definitely hiding something," Adrian nodded, "We may want to tail him later."

"Tail him!?" Jack gave his son a disapproving look, "Adrian, I planned out this whole trip. I would be greatly..."

"What's that?" the lieutenant held up his hand. Police sirens were wailing all up and down Market Street. Disher's question was answered when several uniformed officers came running up. "Everyone stay put here!" one proclaimed, "We've got a sniper on the roof a few blocks down!"

A set of gunshots could be heard going off in the near distance. "Philadelphia," Stottlemeyer shrugged as the officers ran off, weapons in hand, "Nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here."

"Great, isn't it sir?" Disher asked with a dopey smile.

"Like you would really know?" Sharona snorted, "You think this is bad, try the New York suburbs; you need two sawed-off shotguns there if you want to go out after dark."

"So anyway, Monk, I think we might...Monk?" Disher glanced around, but Adrian was no longer there. During the officers' announcement to the group about the threat, the detective had heard Maxwell whisper behind him, "You've got it on, kid?" He hadn't thought much of this at first, but when he'd glanced behind him, he'd noticed Ralph running off to the nearest alley while no one was looking, and that he seemed to be unbuttoning his shirt. Curiosity had gotten the better of the detective. He sneaked up to the alley, unnoticed by the rest of his group, and glanced inside...

And had to jump back as an object roared out of it at close to the speed of sound. An object that was clearly Ralph in the red suit from last night. Adrian's eyes went wide again. "Oh no, no, no, no, no!" he moaned, watching the teacher apparently rocket down the street toward the sound of the shooting, "This can't be happening! Wake up, Monk, wake up!"

He slapped himself several times in the face. Nothing changed. Meaning he was wide awake, and the whole thing was really happening. And reality as he knew it had suddenly become unhinged. Whimpering, he put his face in his hands...

At first he didn't hear the sound of the gun being discharged again. He did, however, hear the tire explode from the street. The next thing he saw was the Lincoln Town Car swerving over the curb with a flat tire and barreling right toward him. He stood rooted to the spot, too shaken to scream...

And then Ralph descended from the skies in front of him and assumed a bracing stance. "Stop!" Adrian cried at him, "You'll never take the force from...!"

Ralph pressed against the car as it met with him and dug in. Incredibly, this managed to brake the car to a stop inches from the detective. Adrian stared with his jaw wide open and did the only thing left that seemed logical. He keeled over in a dead faint.


	5. Chapter 5

"...Mr. Monk? Come on Mr. Monk, wake up!"

Adrian slowly opened his eyes. Ralph (still in the suit), Pam, and Maxwell were staring at him. The detective shrieked and squirmed away from them. "Stay back!" he warned, "I'm not afraid to...AAAACCCCKKKK!!! What am I doing up here!!??"

He had realized he was up against the ledge of a roof. Market Street lay at least a hundred feet below. He crawled frantically back away from the ledge. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot about your thing with heights," Ralph told him apologetically, "But I really didn't have much choice. The police were swarming all over the place after I caught the sniper; I had to take you somewhere inconspicuous."

"On the roof!? You take me up here to a roof!? All right, admit it, you're in this whole thing with Mike!" Adrian demanded, staring at the ground to avoid the otherwise vertigo-inducing view of the city skyline behind them, "This whole big innocent teacher bit's just some cover so you can get here and rob the Mint!"

"That's the most ridiculous bunch of bunk I ever heard, Monk," Maxwell snorted, "Us, rob the Mint?"

"Clever, clever little scheme, wasn't it?" Adrian continued ranting, "Now tell me, what exactly DID you inject into me to make me think this guy can fly? I don't take drugs well at all!"

"We didn't inject you with anything," Pam tried to reassure him, "Ralph, I think we'd better tell him everything."

"Oh yes, please do," Adrian walked right up to the teacher, "I'd like to hear how you were able to do it all."

"Well," Ralph took a couple of deep breaths, "This...this is hard to explain to a normal person...you see, Mr. Monk, a couple of years back, I was taking my students on a field trip into the desert..."

"Of course. The desert. The perfect place for a school trip," Adrian snorted, "That's about as convincing as it gets."

"Hey, I was hoping to give them a crash course in the desert ecosystem," Ralph protested, "Whitney doesn't have those sort of things on their curriculum. Anyway, the bus broke down, and I went out looking for help and ran into Bill here, and then...oh boy...the aliens came. And then, they gave us this suit...this stupid, absurd suit," he plucked at it with contempt, "and told us we were supposed to use it to solve the world's problems. I hope that doesn't sound too far-fetched..."

"Oh no, on the contrary, it makes all the sense in the world," Adrian moaned, "Considering that any semblence of reality here just went right out the window."

"OK, looks like we're going to have to prove it to the man," Maxwell proclaimed, "Ralph, take him for a little flight."

"I'm not sure it's the best of ideas, Bill, but here goes," Ralph scooped up Adrian onto his back. "Better hang on really tight."

"Oh you can't be...come on...no!" Adrian screamed to no avail. Ralph ran forward toward the edge of the roof and took off into the air. Yes, the detective noted, they were actually flying over the city. There was no way imaginable this could be wires or any similar trick. Somehow, his associate's strange story about the aliens now made bizarre sense. "All right, all right, I believe you!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, his eyes tightly shut, "Now I'm begging you, take me down to the ground!"

"WHOOOOOOOAAA!!!" his prayer was being answered the hard way, as Ralph was losing both altitude and control very fast. The two of them plummeted into the alley they'd initally gone into in the first place and crashed hard into a (thankfully for the detective) closed dumpster. Adrian rubbed his head hard. Nothing appeared to be broken as far as he could tell...except any faith he had in the laws of physics. "Couldn't, couldn't we have just taken the stairs?" he had to ask. "Oh boy, this, this strains credibility in anything and everything...an actual alien suit."

"Oh believe me, I was just as surrpised as you are when I got it," Ralph shook himself off, "It's been a Catch-22 for me; it's essentially ruined my life, but we've managed to stop a number of terrible plots against humanity Now if I just hadn't lost the manual, I..."

"You what? You lost the manual?" Adrian raised his eyebrows. As if things couldn't get stranger...

"I didn't realize it until I got back home afterwards," the teacher walked over to where his clothes lay and started putting them back on over the suit, "It's still out there somewhere in the desert; I went back a couple of times to look for it, to no avail."

"Too bad they didn't give it to me," Adrian commented, "I would have had the manual bagged and stored immediately...what am I saying!?"

He put his face in his hands. "Oh, they're never going to hire me out again after this!" he lamented, "When they hear I've gone through this...!"

"Maybe not," Ralph suggested, "I've been pretty successful at keeping the whole thing under wraps so far. As long as you don't tell anyone..."

"Oh believe me, no problem there," Adrian nodded emphatically, "What, what time is it anyway?"

"You were out cold for close to a half hour," the teacher explained, "From what I could see before I brought you up to the roof, your group moved on to the Liberty Bell."

"Good, good, that was one thing I did want to see when we came here," Adrian admitted, "There's something I need to do there first before we go on. I can't stay with you all the whole day, though; I really need to get over to the Mint at one point and look for clues in the thefts and murders there."

"You're working on the Mint case?" Maxwell came charging into the alley, out of breath from running down all the stairs from the roof, "Wait now, that's a federal felony; I think we have a stake in this thing as well. Especially if the little meeting we had with the green guys last night is connected with it somehow."

"So you're convinced that," Adrian winced as he acknowledged reluctantly that the close encounter he'd had was real as well, "Is related to this?"

"There's one way to find out, isn't there, Monk?" the FBI agent told him, "Here's the scenario: we go to the Mint, you do your thing, Ralph does his, and we have the bad guys locked up by sunset."

"It, it would be nice if it ended up like that," Adrian picked up several pieces of trash in the alley with his claw, shifted the lid on the dumpster open with his shoulder, and deposited the garbage inside, "But like I just said, there's still one thing that has to be done first."

* * *

"Thanks, keep the change," Jack handed a ten dollar bill to the hot dog vendor at the corner of Third and Market. "Fresh dogs for everyone," he said, handing them around to the rest of the group (Ralph's students and son had drifted on their own up the block, leaving Adrian's associates on their own). 

"I've got the mustard," Stottlemeyer examined the one he'd been given and nodded when he saw it was what he'd asked for. "I hope Monk's doing OK," he remarked as he took a bite, "He should have stayed with us instead of running off for whatever reason."

"Although, it does feel nice to actually be able to enjoy this trip without him nagging us on everything," Sharona took a slurp from the soda she'd also ordered from the vendor.

"How would you call it nagging?" Julie raised an eyebrow, "You've barely even been with him yet. We had to put up with him the whole plane ride over."

"With Adrian, just being around him qualifies as nagging," the nurse informed the girl, "When you reach seven years with him as I did, you'll know what I mean."

"I don't think that'll I'll have to wait that long, Mrs. Fleming," Julie copmmented, "Sometimes he makes me realize that now. But on the other hand, it is nice to get another view of how people see the world through him, even if it's a rather weird view."

"Hey, over here," Disher waved everyone down Third, "There's something here I've got to show you. Right there."

"So?" Natalie frowned at where he was pointing, "It's an apartment building. You said you were born outside the main city."

"I was," the lieutenant informed her, "But this is where I first knew I wanted to be a cop. You see, when I was seven, my mother and I were out shopping here, and we came upon a hostage standoff. Some nut had taken a woman hostage and was holding her at gunpoint inside the doorway. I remembered him shouting at the top of his lungs he'd splatter he brains all over town..."

"And what a lovely memory to bring up in front of children while they're eating," Sharona frowned at him. She put a protective arm around Benjy, who didn't seem to mind the conversation at all.

"Anyway," Disher continued, nonplussed, "They were holding us back behind the police line, and as I watched, this big, strong-looking cop leaped up from behind the bushes near the steps, knocked the guy down, and cuffed him. Then as his buddies led the guy away, he hugged the woman close and told her everything was going to be all right. That inspired me. From that day on, I wanted to be a cop so I could help people all the time."

He sighed contentedly. "I did tell you guys I have a lot of memories here, right?" he asked.

"This is at least the third time this morning, Randy," Stottlemeyer pointed out, looking fed up with the subject.

"Oh. Well, thought you'd like to hear it again?" Disher shrugged. He noticed Natalie had wandered back to the corner and was staring down Market toward the nearby Delaware River. "What?" he asked as he approached her, joined soon by the others.

"Oh, nothing, except that, well, I have memories of this place too," she said, her eyes looking distant, "Or at least Mitch would have if he were here. After he graduated from Annapolis, he was stationed here the first few months--when the Naval Yard was still open. This was before I met him, mind you, but he always spoke fondly of his time here. He said that the lights of the city looked like nothing you can imagine on a clear night. That's one reason I was glad you asked to come here," she told Jack with a grateful expression, "I always wanted to see what he did."

"Philly does look great at night," Jack confirmed for her, "When I first started trucking, my regular route ran through here on through to either Pittsburgh or Hartford, depending what the company's orders were. When you're roaring down the Schuylkill Expressway at one in the morning, nothing ever beats the view of downtown."

"Which some claim is the cause of the city's sports teams' miseries," came Ambrose's voice from Julie's cell phone again, "When City Hall was completed around 1903, there was a gentlemen's agreement of sorts among the builders than no other subsequent building in the city should be higher that the brim of the hat on the William Penn statue atop City Hall. This lasted until 1987 with the completion of One Liberty Square and subsequent buildings of similar height. It's worth noting in regards to this that none of Philadelphia major sports teams have to date won a championship since the 76ers sealed up the NBA title in 1983, when Penn's blessing, if you believe in that sort of thing, was still in effect."

"So I'm not supposed to put money on the Eagles when the NFL presason pools at the office get distributed, Ambrose?" Jack asked his son over the phone.

"Well, if you believe in curses, no, Dad," there was an overly helpful tone in Ambrose's voice.

"Then I'll take your word for it, Son," Jack told a smiling Ambrose. "Oh yeah, yeah," he exhaled once he'd handed Julie back the phone, "Those were the good old days, driving through here at night. One of those was the first trips I took Jack Jr. on..."

"Oh really?" Ambrose now sounded more dismal. Learning that his father had started an entirely different family away from their own had been just as much a blow to him as it had to Adrian when he'd learned of it.

"Well, look at it this way, Ambrose," his father said, "Obviously one of my sons had to come out for a first ride, and since you didn't leave the house by that point, it had to have been Jack Jr.--obviously the wrong choice in giving away that first ride today, but anyway," he grew nostagic again, "For just once everything was perfect between us. He'd be innocently tooting the horn as we rolled past Veterans Stadium, and whenever the railroad tracks came alongside the expressway. He'd hang his head out the window when he passed Center City and took it in with the widest eyes you can imagine. As we were leaving the metro area, he looked at me with a big smile and said, 'I wanted to be just like you when I grow up, Dad.' Up till Adrian called me that at Christmas, those were the happiest words I've heard. A month later, I caught the first stash of pot on Jack Jr., and it's been all downhill for the kid ever since. Boy if you could just go back and change these things, see where you went wrong."

"Only with Jack Jr.?" Sharona raised an eyebrow at him. "Well," the trucker said slowly, "Contrary to what you think, Mrs.Fleming, I believe bother Adrian and Ambrose have turned out just fine without me. They're making a strong diferrence in the world."

"And you think that excuses you not having been there for them?" Sharona folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot impatiently at Jack, "I could give you a long complex outline on how you ruined their lives by leaving them, but I'll just give the Reader's Digest version. First off, you..."

Before she could continue, there came the roar of sirens from back in the Liberty Bell Center, accompanied by the sight of Pam running up to their group, looking frustrated. "Um, Monk's up and about, but there's bad news," she told them all.

"No good news to offset whatever the bad is?" Natalie groaned.

"He's in there, doing you-can-guess-what," Pam groaned, Gesturing towards the Center, she told them, "He's probably succeeded already."

"Doing what?" Natalie wasn't ready to hear the answer, she just had to see the whole thing herself. Dragging Julie along through the thickening chunks of bystanders, they leaped over the turnstiles and deep towards the back of the building where the Bell was set up. What she saw horrified her. "Mr. Monk, how could you!" she cried out as she reached him.

"It was about time somebody took care of it, Natalie," Adiran gestured toward his "masterpiece," "I think it looks a lot better this way."

"Looks better!?" her blood pressure was going way up, "MR. MONK, YOU JUST SEALED UP THE LIBERTY BELL'S CRACK!!!!!!"

The bell was now seemingly returned to normal, sealant filing the space where the crack had been. There was a loud, lung-bursting laugh from Julie at the sight of this, accompanied by Ambrose announcing, "That's not the actual crack, you know. What you see is a man-made cut to keep the actual crack--which naked eyes can't see--from getting any worse."

"At any rate," Adrian tried to rationalize, "you have to ask yourself, would you REALLY miss it?"

Natalie sputtered with a mixture of rage and shock. "Move, move, move!" came voice of the curator pushing through the crowds. "Oh, what did you do here!?" he lamented at the sight of Adrian's handiwork, "We can't display it like this!"

"But it's whole now," the detective told him.

"Out!" the curator pushed him towards the entrance. "You'll thank me later," Adrian called behind him as the door slammed shut.

"Well, good to see you're doing well and fine, Monk," Stottlemeyer mumbled nearby, "I guess watching snipers tends to heighten the old senses to the point where you feel the need to go after national treasures, right?"

"All the times they show pictures of it, it just didn't look right cracked," the detective said in self-defense, "I don't understand why no one else has complained over the years."

"Detective M strikes again, huh?" Tony and the rest of Ralph's students had been standing by as well.

"Just, just doing my civic duty as an American," Adrian said.

"OK campers, listen up," Maxwell spoke up, "There's going to be a little change in plans for today. Monk here's got an emergency meeting at the Mint; Ralph and I have agreed to go with him, given the sensitive nature of the mission, so try and not cause any trouble while we're out, miscreants. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I've got one big question," came a sharp, biting voice from the back of the group, "How long ago were you planning this?"

Hurt came back onto Ralph's face as he faced his son's inquiry. "Kevin, I don't...it's...Mr. Monk here needed help..." he stammered weakly.

"Oh sure," Kevin wasn't buying it, "Just like everyone else seems to. Take me back to the hotel, Miss Davidson, I've had enough for today."

He took hold of the attorney's hand and gave it a hard yanking. "All right, Kevin, if you insist," Pam sighed. She walked away with him. Ralph looked heartbroken. "Now what am I going to do?" he mumbled to himself.

"We'd be happy to do whatever you'd had in mind for your students," Dr. Kroger proposed, "It's no hassle, really."

"Oh, uh, certainly," the teacher mumbled softly, "Now I was planning to take them all to Elfreth's Alley and Betsy Ross's house, and then maybe to City Hall. You can give a rough overview of each of those sites, I hope?"

"Well, I'm sure the guides can provide a rudimentary help," the psychiatrist glanced at his own city guides, "I can't guarantee an in-depth lecture, though; truthfully, I only managed a B- in history."

"That'll be fine. All right you guys, just stay close to Mr. Monk's friends while I'm out with Mr. Maxwell, and try not to cause any trouble," Ralph told his students in parting, "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Uh, I'd like to come too," Disher stepped forward, "I do have a stake in this too."

"Sure, sure, but don't do anything dumb, pal," Maxwell told him.

"He's, he's really quite competent," Adrian pointed out.

"Not from Ralph's description of the show," the FBI man snorted, "Reverse liposuction?"

"Hey, I thought it was a valid explanation for how Dale the Whale did it," the lieutenant protested.

"I would vouch for him under any circumstances," Adrian stood by Disher.

"Well, we might as well get going," Ralph mumbled. "It's just not fair," he growled as they walked off, kicking at a lamppost in frustration.

"I'm, I'm sorry if this caused any problems," Adrian said quickly.

"It's not you, Mr. Monk," it's me," the teacher lamented. After checking to make sure Disher wasn't paying attention, he leaned closer and whispered in the detective's ear, "More specifically, it's this stupid suit. This is the prime reason I hate having it sometimes."

"So I take it saving the world has come into conflict with other things?" Adrian asked softly.

"The poor kid's been through what no one should have to go through," Ralph shook his head, "It hurts me more than anything to see him hurt. I want to do things with him, honestly, but it seems that every time I get the chance, some world crisis comes up and I have to call everything off. I can't blame him for being upset; I'd feel the same way if I were in his place. And the sad irony is, I divorced my first wife because she would do the same thing to him deliberately."

"Sounds like a lovely woman," Adrian veered away from a homeless man on the corner that was lurching toward him.

"Alicia was a very beautiful woman," Ralph reminisced, "Unfortunately as I found out, she placed too much value on career advancement. She kept promising Kevin she'd be around for things, but would end up skipping off for model shoots or film casting sessions. Finally when she blew off his 8th birthday for an audition for a Scorsese film, I decided I'd had enough and called an attorney to file for divorce--I didn't really want to, because I knew it would really affect Kevin's mindset, but it had just reached the point where I had no other visible choice. At first the courts decided on joint custody, but then I got this suit, and was forced to miss my own agreements a lot. Alicia was able to use this at the follow-up hearings and was awarded primary custody. I don't hold grudges on that--you have to forgive--but the worst part is she now leaves the country a lot to get jobs, and Kevin's left alone for weeks on end. You can understand then why it's hard for him to trust anyone anymore."

"Oh absolutely," Adrian sighed, "I know exactly how he feels. Exactly. I would volunteer to talk to him about it, but I'd probably just say the wrong things as always."

Ralph had no response. "Cab," Maxwell strode into the street and waved one down. "The Mint, bub, and make it snappy," he directed the driver.

"Ac, Actually, could you drive up the block about a quarter of a mile or so?" Adrian leaned over Maxwell's shoulder, "Your odometer, it's at 1999.97. I'd like to get in only when it's nice and even."

"Tell you what, you get in now or you can forget the whole thing, mac," the driver retorted.

"Well, it is a nice day for a walk," Adrian stepped away.

"Monk, come on, be a man," Maxwell gestured him into the back of the cab.

"Suppose I don't want to be a man?" the detective said, but reluctantly got in anyway, "The fact is, it's not even."

* * *

"It's me," Mike was whispering into a cell phone behind Indpendence Hall at that moment, "You should know Adrian Monk's here. He was asking about certain things." 

"The defective detective?" asked the gravel-voiced military man on the other end of the line, "Why should we have to worry about that fruitcake? He can't stop us."

"Maybe not you, colonel, but I've right out here in the wind for him to take down!" Mike hissed, "I can tell he's got his suspicions; if he finds out...!"

"Rutherford, you're too nervous," the colonel reassured him, "Everything's going according to plan. Now don't you worry; everything's under control."

"That's what worries me," he associate said, "How do I know I'm safe from...?"

The colonel hung up on him. "Monk's getting a little too close for Rutherford's comfort," he told a shadowy figure standing behind him.

"Well then," the figure said with a familiar Russian accent, "We'd better take appropriate measures, shouldn't we?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Maxwell, FBI," the agent flashed his badge to the security officer on duty at the Mint's business entrance, "I'm here on official business; this is Ralph, my associate, and this..."

"Adrian Monk," the officer recognized him as well, "Can I have an autograph?"

He shoved a pencil and paper at the detective. Shrugging, Adrian leaned against the wall and ever so slowly started signing his name. It was close to ten minutes later that he finally nodded with finality and handed it over. "Wait, wait, wait," he abruptly took it back, "I didn't dot the i right. I'll need another piece of paper."

"Never mind, this is just fine, honestly," the guard snatched the paper back from him, "Come right on in; I'll tell the boss you're coming."

They walked through numerous checkpoints into the main coin producing section. Countless millions of coins rolled through automated assembly lines as employees milled about watching the controls. "Agent Maxwell?" called a short, plump man by one of these machines, "I'm Larry Sundblom, I'm in charge of the facility. I got your call. And Adrian Monk, nice to see you as well."

"Nice to be here," Adrian reluctantly shook the man's hand, realizing only after the fact that no one had any wipes to give him. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Hang on, hang on, someone stop the line there. Sir?"

He waved to one of the employees, who hit the switch to stop the line. "Is something wrong?" he asked the detective.

"Um, there's a couple of things wrong here," Adrian pointed at several of the innumerable pennies on the line, "This one is off by about a tenth of the percent on the copper quantity, this one was misstamped; Lincoln's eyebrows are about an inch short, this one's only got a partial mint mark, this one has too jagged an edge, this one has..."

"Oh come on Monk, there's millions and millions of coins here; no one's going to notice these things," Maxwell complained.

"But they should, if the coins aren't the same..." the detective began.

"We hoped to get a look at the crime scene," Disher interrupted before things could go further, "We suspect that it wasn't Cathy Trumbull who broke in here and killed the guards."

"Follow me," Sundblom led them toward a door on the far side of the room, "I must admit, I had a little bit of trouble accepting that Cathy had done it. She's been a model employee for close to a decade now, the last person I'd expect to go on a rampage."

"Do you have anything on tape of the rampage?" Ralph inquired.

"That's the strangest things; well, one of the strangest things," Sundblom admitted, "All of the cameras mysteriously shorted out just before the alarms were triggered. Since Bert was in charge of the section, it rang at his house as well, so that's why he was here so quickly. Unfortunately, whoever was robbing this place was still here. Well, this is the storage section that was hit."

They had reached a door wide open door to a room full of coins. Adrian slowly walked around the hall and room, making familiar hand gestures as he took everything in. "So there were no actual coins in this room, only cutouts?" he asked after about five minutes.

"Yes," Sundblom nodded, puzzled, "That's also what I'm confused about. Why would the thief take them when there's actual coins in other parts of the building?"

"Exactly," the detective nodded, "Cathy told us yesterday Nyquist had fired her last week."

"He came to me and said he'd caught her and had to let her go," the manager confirmed, "I sensed that there was something wrong, though; Bert looked like he was in some kind of trance when he was giving that report, like he'd been drinking or something. But he never drinks."

"I see," Adrian exchanged glances with Disher. He walked up the hall further. "What have we here?" he exclaimed, bending down. A piece of fabric was stuck on a door hinge. He produced his tweezers and picked it up. "I don't suppose military fatigues are standard uniforms here?" he asked, holding it up.

"Certainly not," Sundblom stared at it, "But what does it all mean?"

"Here's what I think; there wasn't just one thief, there was a whole gang of them. One person could not have moved gotten all of the coins out of here. Somehow they disabled the internal systems beforehand."

"But there's another thing, how could they have done that?" Sundblom posed, "You can't shut them down without a special code, and even I don't know the whole thing. Cathy certainly didn't know it either."

"Was anything left in the control room?" Disher asked.

"No hard evidence, if that's what you're asking," the manager said, "But if you'd take a look at it, maybe you could find something there."

"Good idea," Maxwell said quickly, "Lieutenant, why don't you go take a look up there; we'll all keep looking for clues here."

"Why?" Disher was confused.

"Because we're strongest at that, and you'd be good up there," Adrian said quickly, "I'll be up once we're done here."

Disher accepted this explanation and walked off with Sundblom. Once he'd left, Maxwell turned to Ralph and said, "OK, see what you can get off of this thing Monk found."

Ralph nodded and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, leaving the suit partially exposed. "Do you have to do that?" Adrian complained, "It's not just uneven, it's just plain sloppy looking."

"I have to if the holographing power's supposed to work," the teacher explained, "Can I have that fabric?"

Adrian handed it over to him. "Holographing?" he had to know.

"I get vibes off things that can tell me where key people are," Ralph explained, pressing the cloth to his forehead, "It's as ridiculous as it sounds, really."

He squinted hard in concentration. It took all of Adrian's self-control not to laugh. "I'm getting something, Bill," the teacher announced, "It looks like a bunker of some kind. There's military people everywhere. There's some guys in a corner working on some kind of device. Wait, I can see they've got nametags. They're from Caucasian Provinces."

"Oh lovely," Adrian groaned. He was all too familiar with the terroristic white supremicist group.

"I take it you've met those cretins, Monk?" Maxwell inquired.

"Oh, I was the one who stopped their plot to detonate that nuclear device on the Golden Gate Bridge a few Christmases ago," the detective told him, "I've gotten about five death threats from them since then. But what could they want with unminted coins?"

"Wait a minute," Ralph lowered the cloth from his head, "The green guys said there was a guy who had a suit like this. You don't suppose...if he does know how to use all of its powers, it's possible he could have used them to disable the alarms before they came in...he could have carried all the crates out on his own."

"Oh good, a logical explanation," Adrian still wasn't completely comfortable with the case now going the way it was. He put a hand over his face. "Why does this have to end up like this, with flying guys in suits!" he lamented, "Cases are supposed to be logical, not to play out like an episode of the Green Lantern!"

"Any clues on where this bunker of theirs is, Ralph?" Maxwell inquired.

"Uh," Ralph put the cloth back to his head, "No, I can't get anything. It's like I'm being blocked out. Maybe this guy knows I'm trying to lock in on him."

"Well then, I'd say the scenario is you get on up into the firendly skies and see if you can find their resort from up there," the FBI man told him, "Monk and I'll try to find it on the ground."

"I am?" the detective frowned.

"We are now," Maxwell goaded him, "If this is a serious threat against the world, then the clock's running."

"Well, so much for a day on the town," Ralph muttered. He sauntered toward the nearest bathroom and closed the door. "Hey Mr. Monk, could you hang onto my clothes while I'm out?" he called out.

"Hang on...your...?" Adrian didn't get a chance to finish, as the teacher opened the door and handed his clothes to him. Adrian recoiled and dropped them. He watched as Ralph jumped out the bathroom window and soared into the sky. "I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning!" he lamented.

"Hey Monk," Disher had returned. The lieutenant glanced around. "Where'd Hinkley go?" he asked.

"Uh, he, he had to leave, he had something important to do," Adrian said quickly, "Randy, it's Caucasian Provinces; they pulled this."

"Them?" Disher frowned, "What are they up to now?"

"If we don't find out, it could be pretty dire," the detective said, "I...well, we have reason to believe they could be up to another plot to destroy the world. We've got to find their hideout."

* * *

"No, nothing here, "Adrian announced a few hours later. They had searched more or less every square inch of the city within a four mile radius of the Mint and were now finishing their search in the cemetery down the street from it, "No signs of any secret doors or anything." 

"Well, that proves they're operating somewhere in the suburbs," Maxwell conceded. After checking to make sure Disher wasn't looking, he pulled out a small radio and whsipered, "Anything yet, Ralph? We're all dry."

"Nothing at all, Bill, and I went as far as West Chester," Ralph announced from...somewhere, "Either they're very good at camouflaging themselves, or this guy with the other suit's jamming me."

"Well, we'll have to try again tomorrow," the FBI man conceded, "I'll meet you back at the hotel."

"Yeah, it's, it's a good time to stop," Adrian agreed, "I don't want to be out here after dark."

Indeed, the sun had already set. The detective wasn't comfortable with the large knots of beggars who looked like they hadn't washed in close to a year beginning to pour onto the streets as darkness grew. The three of them started walking back towards the hotel. "Well, at least we can rest easy knowing for sure Cathy's innocent, right Monk?" Disher asked him.

"Oh she's innocent, of course, but it's still going to be tricky trying to prove it," Adrian pointed out, "There's still matter of her prints being at the scene; how could Caucasian Provinces have planted them?"

"I still think Mike had something to do with it," the lieutenant theorized, "But how could he have gotten hold of her prints?"

Adrian shrugged, not willing to reveal everything. He glanced at his watch. "The show should be on in about twenty minutes, actually," he realized.

"Right, new episode tonight, almsot forgot," Disher snapped his fingers, "I hope it's the marathon case tonight; I've wanted to see that one on screen since the beginning."

Adrian wondered why this was so, since Disher hadn't really played that significant a role in that case, and he didn't really feel like asking. Before long they'd returned to the hotel. "I'll, I'll be up in a minute," he told Disher at the door, "Something I've got to do first."

"I'm going to go for a coffee and snack, since we skipped dinner," Maxwell announced. Adrian heard him whisper into his radio as he walked away, "You're all clear Ralph, any time you're ready. The detective glanced up to see a bright object weaving about the sky. It got bigger and bigger each second. Adrian winced as Ralph missed what looked to be his intended landing on the roof of the building next door and smacked hard into a streetlight. "You, you all right there?" he asked, running over to the teacher as he slid to the ground.

"Oh fine, never better," Ralph shook himself off, "Like I said, those guys know how to hide well; I couldn't find a thing. You've got my clothes?"

"Here's, here's the thing," the detective said slowly, "Since you had been wearing them most of the morning, I felt I had to drop them off at the first laundromat we came across. They should be in the drying cycle right now."

"What?" Ralph gaped at him, "I can't go into the hotel looking like this! I'll be tossed...hi, International Circus of the Stars, appearing at Wachovia Arena later this month," he announced to a group of pedestrians walking by who were giving him strange looks, which Adrian really couldn't blame them for given the suit's pure ridiculousness. "Oh what the hell?" the teacher shrugged. A look of concentration crossed his face, and the next thing Adrian knew, he vanished completely from sight. "Where'd...how...!?" he gasped.

"It's OK, I'm still here," came Ralph's voice from nowhere, "At least I do have this power nailed down. Shall we go in so I can find some clothes to put on?"

"By all means," Adrian gestured him toward the door before realizing how dumb this made him look making such a gesture to an invisible man in public. They strolled into the lobby, which was still crowded with late night guests checking in. "Well, I see they're doing good without me," he said, his gaze on the nearby pool, where he could see both his assistants leaning up against the side of the pool looking very relaxed--far more relaxed, in fact, than he'd ever seen them. "I'd go in and say hello, I'm back, but pools are nightmares. You never know what people might have on their feet, and I don't trust what they put into the water."

"Maybe some day you'll overcome it," Ralph said helpfully, "Say, isn't your show going to be on tonight?"

"In fact, we were just talking about that...one minute," Adrian took hold of the pillows on a nearby sofa and placed them exactly on the opposite ends. "Got to have a talk with the management about these; I'll bet they get a load of complaints," he remarked, "But I guess, Ralph...wherever you are...if you want to watch it with us, you can; I think I like you."

"You do? Well, I appreciate the compliment," Ralph sounded pleased, "Since you said yes, I'll go tell my students they can come."

"We'll be in my brother's room," Adrian informed him. The two of them walked up the stairs to the third floor. Adrian looked at his watch again; ten minutes to air now. "See you soon...I hope," he told the still invisible Ralph at the teacher's door. He strolled up the hall to his own room, wondering himself which episode would be shown tonight; Benjy had made it clear to him over the phone several times that he himself had no idea which of his scripts would be aired when.

He recoiled the moment he opened the door to his room. He dashed right to the phone and dialed the room service extention. "Hello, I'd like to file a formal complaint," he told the person on the other end of the line, "I've just come back for the night; my bedsheets were improperly put back on the bed."

"Sir, we followed your instructions to the T," the other person complained with a deep Hispanic accent, "And it almost killed us in the process!"

"Well the sheet's not properly straight," Adrian said, "However, I'd be willing to let you atone for it. You can come back up and straighten it out the right way at no extra charge. And then while you're at it, get the full cleaning gear; I'd like to have the whole room done again while I'm here." (he paid no attention to the person's loud groaning), "And then I'd...hello?"

He'd been hung up on. "I'll give them five minutes or so," he told himself, wandering back out into the hall. Apart from Natalie and Sharona relaxing in the hotel pool, the rest of his group were back in their rooms unwinding for the night. Glancing into the one across the hall from his own, he saw Dr. Kroger playing cards with his father on the table in the corner--7-card stud to be precise. From their facial expressions, his psychiatrist was winning and winning rather handily. He moved onto the next room, where an eager Disher was relating to Stottlemeyer what he'd learned during the sojourn to the Mint. Stottlemeyer wasn't totally interested. Adrian noted that he had laid a pair of T-shirts across the bed, presumably purchased for his sons (he noted their different sizes). Across the hall from that in the room the Flemings and Teegers were jointly sharing, the children were lying on the bed nearest the door, glancing at Benjy's laptop. "...don't know about that," Julie was shaking her head as the detective listened in, "That might just be a little hard for audiences to take, that he'd lay her body out on a clock handle to fall onto her car when he's well away."

"Well it's how it actually happened," Benjy reminded her, "I can't deviate from that. And Mr. Monk said very clearly there was no way she could have been seen. Apart from the groundskeeper the guy knocked off, everyone was in class, and that side of the campus was completely empty."

"I would have just left her up there if I were him," Julie commented, "Honestly, who would go up to the top of a clock tower regularly? They wouldn't have known she was missing for a few days, and then he wouldn't have had to worry about making sure everyone knew where he was at the time, if they could have even proved when she died."

"That's why the bad guys fail all the time; they don't think things out well enough, so that when they make that one critical mistake, Mr. Monk's there to clean their acts up for them," Benjy stated with a sense of pride that made Adrian smile from behind the door. "I'll show you the next one; this is the time the Captain had to move in with him."

"I bet he wanted to shoot himself afterwards," the girl remarked, "And are you sure you can't do anything about the theme song? It just doesn't seem right to me."

Adrian chuckled softly as he back away from the door. He wasn't sure if he liked the show's theme song himself, but if they did want to change it, the time would have to be now after the first season ended, or he'd end up hopelessly addicted to the first one.

He heard the shuffling of newspapers inside the farthest room in the hallway. He glanced inside to see Ambrose tamping down the daily editions of all the Philadelphia area newspapers and stacking them in short columns with the previous day's editions. "I think you're biting off more than you can chew, Ambrose," he announced as he entered.

"They have to all be ordered and stacked so that they don't get mixed up with the regular San Francisco papers I brought," Ambrose gestured to the stacks that had been in his house only forty-eight hours earlier, "Nice to see you again. Speaking of the house, I really should get back there tonight, it's not..."

"Ambrose, you can't go back now and you know it," Adrian told him as calmly as he could, "You'll be back there in less than a week; now surely you can hold out here long enough to get back to your domain?"

"Of course I can," his brother said, "Even though you're probably thinking otherwise, I am enjoying myself here a lot. Once I got over the fact that this isn't the bed I sleep in, I am trying to be happy about it, and so far it's working. One step at a time."

"It, I like it here so far too," Adrian put an arm around his brother, "Much like Dad, I wish you'd come with us on these excursions, but it feel great to do this in a group with people I know, people I care about. After all, it's what normal people do." He let out a deep sigh. "The only real down spot is that Trudy isn't here to enjoy it with us."

"Trudy would have been great here with us," Ambrose grew quite somber, "I think she might have made a good vacationer out of you if she'd had more time. I would have given a lot to go on vacation with her myself, but of course vacation meant crossing the doorstep, and so now it's too late."

"And no woman would be able to go with you, admittedly," Adrian said.

"Not necessarily true," Ambrose raised an eyebrow, "I have had crushes before, you know.

"Really? On whom, Ambrose, if you may enlighten me?"

"There was this mail lady, her name was Tara, for about the middle four years of the seven we weren't speaking," the instruction manual writer said, "It took about three months after she started bringing the mail to my doorstep for me to realize she was a very attractive woman and I should say something about it. Unfortunately, I never could get up the nerve to do it, and she was transferred away a year and a half before the Pat Van Rankin incident. If I could go back now, I'd give myself another chance to tell her what she meant to me."

"Oh yeah," Adrian nodded sadly, "There's always something we could have done differently if we could go back. For instance," he stared at the ceiling, "I don't think I told you that Dwight asked me to be a consultant on one of his police shows. I turned it down, I wanted to be with Trudy in San Francisco, and I didn't want to leave working on the streets behind. There are some nights now I can't sleep because I think about what might have been if I had taken the offer up. Maybe my life wouldn't be the train wreck it is. Maybe, just maybe, " he put his face in his hands, "I'd still have her with me."

Ambrose was silent. "You two bonding together?" came Natalie's voice from the doorway, where she was standing with a robe over her bathing suit. "You, you are absolutely one hundred percent dry?" her employer had to know, "I can't walk up a hall that's been dripped..."

"Adrian, we're dry," Sharona leaned in from over Natalie's shoulder, "You can take our word for it, or you can get absolutely shellacked."

"We'll take door number one," the detective said quickly, "So, you have a nice day without me?"

"Are you kidding, Adrian? It was easily one of the happiest day I've had in a good long while," the nurse said. "But don't take it that way, please," she added quickly upon seeing the dismal expression this brought from him, "We would like to do a couple of things with you before it's all over with."

"I'm, I'm glad, for both that you can enjoy yourself without me and you want me there," Adrian said, not realizing how contradictory this sounded, "You happen to know what channel were on with it here? I know it's not the same as back home."

He was reaching for the remote. "I haven't looked at the hotel guides since we got here," Natalie shook her head, "But we'll be in to watch it with you once we're all changed."

"Ralph's people are coming in too; it's going to be one heck of a crowd in Monkworld tonight," Adrian flicked through numerous channels, trying to find the right one. "Speaking of Hinkley," Ambrose whispered in his ear as he did this, "How can he fly?"

"Huh?" Adrian jumped in the air.

"On the phone at Independence Hall I could make out a big red blur coming out of the alley and flying away," Ambrose fixed him with an inquizitive gaze, "Hinkley disappeared into the alley moments before that. So how does the guy do it?"

"An, An alien super suit," Adrian groaned, "It's a really long and complicated story, one that I'd rather not get into. Look, Ambrose, you have to promise not to tell anyone else about this."

"Oh no problem at all," his brother murmurred, "The last thing we want is for Dad to think we're even crazier than we are, right?"

"What about me?" Jack entered the room with Dr. Kroger.

"Oh, uh, nothing, Dad, uh Adrian and I were just talking about roads not taken," the instruction manual writer said quickly. The trucker appeared to accept this explanation. "So, which one do you think they'll show tonight?" he asked Adrian as he plopped down on a chair.

"I told you, Dad, I have no idea...ah, here we are," Adrian stopped at Channel 48; he recognized the show that ran before his. "So, what you were doing today, it was important, I take it?" the trucker inquired.

"It's a very big case, Dad," Adrian said. He could tell his father was disappointed he had not been around for most of the day. "I, I don't think it'll tale up too much more of our time, I hope."

"So do I, honestly," Jack told him. Slowly the rest of his party filed into the room, his current and former assistants now fully dressed again. There came a knock on the door as their guests arrived as well. "Hey, Detective M, you don't mind if we get a picture?" Rhonda propsed to him, holding up her camera, "Just so we can capture the moment?"

"Uh, if you want," Adrian shrugged. He forced a smile as the teenagers set the camera up and sat down around him. "Wait, wait, we're not in the proper order, let's switch," he said, rising upwards at the moment the flash went off. Realizing he'd just screwed up the whole shot, he hastily sat back down as the credits finished on the TV for the preceding show and the opening scene of his faded in. "Oh, it's the Monica Waters case!" he recoginzed it instantly, "Oh, I'll never forget that one. That was when I started...hang on, I think my phone's ringing. I'll be right back."

He scrambled down the hall to his room. "Be sure to bring extra buckets of soap, I need..." he started to say into the phone once he'd picked it up.

"Adrian Monk," came an ominous gravel-sounding voice that definitely did not belong to anyone on the hotel's room service staff, "This is your first and only warning. Get off the Mint case now or you and those you care for won't leave this city in one piece."

The line abruptly disconnected. Adrian stared at the receiver for a moment, then casually shuffled back up the hall. "Is something wrong, Adrian?" Dr. Kroger apparently noticed the worried expression on his face.

"Oh, uh, it was, it was nothing, telemarketer," Adrian said quickly. He leaned close to a now visible again and dressed normally Ralph in the nearest chair aafter making sure no one was paying attention and whispered in his ear, "Death threat on the phone, they know we're onto them. Is something wrong?" he noticed his associate's eyes looked moist. "Your son wasn't happy you were out all day, I guess?"

Ralph nodded softly. "He said something I thought I'd never hear from him," he whispered back in a crackling voice, "I'm afraid he might not forgive me this time."

"Who knows," Adrian shrugged. He didn't need to ask exactly what Kevin had said; he knew what it was, for it was the same thing he would have told his own father just a few months ago, "I hope we catch them soon too, for both your sakes."

"Yeesh, this guy's pretty vicious," Tony commented as the villain offed his victims on the TV screen.

"Well, it's not an exact recreation," Adrian told him, "But it's the best we could do with the evidence we have of what happened. Given that the guy had to make the sure the will..."

"Don't give the whole thing away, Monk," Stottlemeyer cut him off, "After all, not all of us were there when it happened."

"Right, right," the detective nodded. Sometimes he admittedly got too excited about watching his own exploits. He watched as the main titles rolled and decided he agreed with Julie wholeheartedly: the music definitely needed an upgrade...


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S INQUIRY: How am I doing? Any advice, comments, anything at all? I get the feeling when no one says anything, that I'm doing terrible with a story. Am I doing reasonable enough for you with it so far?

* * *

"You're going too fast, Dad, you're going too fast," Adrian complained the next morning. 

"Adrian, I'm going the speed limit," the trucker said calmly, "And lest you forget, I've been driving highways like this for over twenty..."

"Van, van, van, he's coming over!" the detective pointed out the vehicle pulling into the lane ahead of him, prompting his father to apply the brakes hard. Adrian gripped the handhold above the door hard. Traffic heading westbound on Interstate 76 heading out of the city had been heavy since they'd got on it, making him glad they were almost at the exit for Valley Forge (apparently his group had enjoyed their time with Ralph's group, they'd told him, and had decided to stay on the teacher's schedule as much as they could. Later that day once they'd taken in Valley Forge, they were going to visit the Philadelphia Zoo). That was the least of his concerns at the moment, though; he was feeling very claustrophobic at the moment given that all nine members of his party actually going on this trip were squeezed tightly into his father's car. This meant the detective was pressed just a little too tightly against the rear window that he would have liked. "Are we there yet?" he asked for what had to have been the eighth time.

. "Monk, please get a grip," Stottlemeyer told him wearily from right next to him. "Yeah, it's just Monk," he said into his cell phone, "Yeah, I got you a couple of things, Jared. I think you're going to like..."

"Smile sir," Disher leaned over with a camera in hand and took his boss's picture with a blinding flash. Stottlemeyer covered his eyes in shock. "I told you to get that thing fixed, Randy!" he growled.

"Are we there yet?" Adrian asked again, "I need air; we're using up all the oxygen in here. Sharona, I need a physical, could you give me one?"

"Adrian," she told him as calmly as she could, "You ask me for a physical one more time, and I'm going to get physical. Understood?"

"Very clearly," he nodded, "But why the long face; I've only asked it of you five times this morning. You know me; that's nothing."

His former aide had no response to this. Adrian leaned back in the seat and tried to ignore the claustrophobia as best he could. Fortunately they were now coming off the Valley Forge exit. It was a mere four minutes later that they pulled into the parking lot at the National Park. Adrian leaped from the car the moment his father shut off the engine and took deep breaths. "Thank God it's over," he remarked.

"Hey, hey, there's our guy!" Adrian found himself immediately in a bear hug by Tony, "Hope you brought your toothbrushes...backup toothbrushes...backup bristles for the backup toothbrushes."

"One, one can never be too prepared when going on a sleep over," Adrian explained, prying his head free, "I'm, I'm glad you liked the episode, though. Which way does the tour start?"

"We have to go up that road there," Ralph explained to him, "It's all self-guided, so we can take as long as we want at each stop. There is a presentation at the visitor's center, but I figured we could hit that all on the way back. So if everyone's ready, let's roll out."

He and his group piled back into the hotel rental van they'd apparently rented. Adrian sighed as he climbed back into his father's once again crowded car. "This, this is going to be fun," he said as positively as he could muster, which wasn't much.

"You shouldn't find it too bad, Adrian," Dr. Kroger reassured him, "I think some time in the countryside like this will help do you good."

"But there are crowds, and germs in the crowds, and uneven hills, and possibly snakes in the tall grass," the detective shuddered at the latter thought.

"Just concentrate on the positive, Mr. Monk," Julie suggested to him. She glanced down at her phone and asked Ambrose, "Are you on?"

"I'm on," the instruction manual writer told her, "First stop on the tour should be in about five hundred feet."

"Wow, you're right," she was impressed to see several recreations of log cabins on the side of the road ahead of them. They pulled to stop behind Ralph's rental van. Adrian sided up along the driver's door as the teacher popped out. "Just to ask, did you take another look this morning?" he asked, "I thought I heard a whoosing of some kind earlier before I got up."

"I took a spin around the Philadelphia metro area again just before sunrise; I couldn't sleep much anyway," Ralph whispered to him, "The thing is, I didn't get to check in this park yesterday, so maybe that fortress we're looking for is somewhere in here."

"Could be," Adrian glanced around the ridge they had parked on. Nothing his eyes could make out seemed like it would be part of a secret military-type installation. He made a note to keep looking as best he could during this excursion. "So, you do, um, have...it with you?" he inquired.

"Yep, he's got it on," Maxwell appeared and whispered, "It took me a lot of convincing to make him want to do it, but..."

"Is this that case you're working on?" Benjy sided up, interested, "What's this one about?"

"I, uh, I can't really say, Benjy, it's, top secret, part of Mr. Maxwell's work at the FBI," Adrian said quickly. His young friend shrugged but seemed to accept this. "Say, Mr. Maxwell, did you say that one guy in L.A. under you uses math to catch crooks?" he asked the older man.

"Well, actually, he and his brother," Maxwell told him, "Why?"

"Oh, just wondering," Benjy smiled, "I've found I like working in television, and I want to make sure I have another show to work on after Mr. Monk's ends."

Adrian glanced at Ralph, wondering himself if an equally interesting television series lay with his colleague. "All right, everyone, the exhibit's over there," he announced to his students. He hesitantly glanced inside the van. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Kevin?" he asked softly, "I think you'd like it."

His son turned his back and did not say anything. Ralph hung his head. Adrian felt guiltier over having brought the teacher into the case. His associate sadly pushed the van door shut. They trudged over to the reconstructed cabins. "Guess you wouldn't want to live in here, right Detective M?" Cyler asked him.

"No, no, not in the least," Adrian grimaced at the narrow confines inside, "I, I don't blame those who deserted at all, they had..."

"Monk, say cheese," Disher announced. Adrian looked up as the lieutenant pressed the camera's button, prompting another blinding flash. "Oh no!" the detective cried, stumbling around, "Help, I've gone blind, somebody help! I can't see a thing, help!"

"Mr. Monk, stay calm, please, you're not blind!" Natalie put an arm around him as he writhed in discomfort.

"Yes I am!" he screeched, "I need an ambulance, A.S.A.P.! I need a doctor! I need...!"

"Mr. Monk, what do you see!?" she took hold of his head and directed it at a grove of trees across the road.

"White birches, why?"

"Then you CAN see," she pointed out, "All right?"

Adrian squinted. His sight was in fact normal as far as he could tell. "I, I knew that," he said quickly. Rolling her eyes, Natalie led him back toward the group as Ralph began his latest lecture. "...I hope you remembered reading before summer break, the Continental Army entered Valley Forge in December of 1777. This was the perfect place to set up a winter encampment, because they were close enough to Philadelphia to keep an eye on British activity there, but also far enough away so that they didn't have to worry about surprise attacks. After having lost the battles of Brandywine and Germantown, morale was low enough, but then the cold set in and made things worse."

"But it wasn't as cold as popularly thought," came Ambrose's voice from back in the city over the phone, "In fact, that winter was above average, with only normal amounts of snowfall. The winter encampment at Morristown, New Jersey two years later, that was the really cold one--so cold in fact that both the Hudson and New York Harbor froze solid for two months."

"Yes, yes, very good," Ralph commended him from afar, "And besides the cold they had rampant disease to worry about: typhus, typhoid, dyssentary..."

Adrian made a loud retching sound and covered his mouth. Just thinking of disease like than running rampant made him feel like throwing up. "Right, sorry, Mr. Monk, forgot you don't like that," Ralph admitted.

"I'm, I'm all right," Adrian took deep, calming breaths, "You might also want to mention the supply lines were nonexistent for the Continental Army as well, thanks in no small part to the fact the Continental Congress at that time distrusted Washington, believing him to have a Napoleonic complex and was plotting to overthrow them, and thus were unwilling to give him too many supplies."

"Indeed, during the stay at Valley Forge, several other generals, led by Saratoga victor Horatio Gates, tried to stage a coup to get rid of Washington," Ambrose piped up, "Ultimately Washington was able to deflect the attacks on his personality and ended up victorious in the struggle."

"While Gates would never win another battle and was the first man off the battlefield once the Battle of Camden went sour three years later," Adrian added.

"Well, it looks like I"m not the teacher today," Ralph commented, but he was smiling.

"Maybe you should hire these two to take over for ya, Mr. H?" Tony proposed.

"Uh, no, sorry, uh, classrooms, they're just not my kind of place," Adrian admitted. His first time as a teacher had been enough for him.

"Same for me," Ambrose added, "But we're glad to assist here."

"So as you guys have heard, things were as bad here as you can imagine," Ralph continued with his lecture, "Just think of it, twelve guys had to sleep in these huts each night for six months, with minimal toilet facilities and other creature comforts like soap and..."

Adrian retched harder. "So bad in fact," he said as he tried to get himself under control again, "That Washington had no choice other than to lift his otherwise iron principle against taking supplies from civilians to keep the army together."

"You need a vomit bag, Detective M?" Rhonda asked him.

"No, no, thank you, I've got at least two dozen in the car," Adrian said, "But somehow despite these really, really, really, really horrific conditions, a lot stayed."

"And those that did stay were rewarded by given formal training," Ralph went on, "Because the Continental Army got a new drillmaster that spring; remember who he was?"

As with the other day, none of his students had an answer. The teacher sighed. "Mr. Monk?" he asked him.

"Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben from Prussia," Adrian nodded, "He wasn't really a lieuteant general under Frederick the Great as he told Congress--a lot of the foreigners they hired to help the army exaggerated their positions so they'd be paid more, and we were desperate enough to believe most of it--but he made his mark, as I'm sure Mr. Hinkley here told you in class, by writing up the basic drill system that's still used by the military today."

"The problem there was that von Steuben couldn't speak much English," Ambrose's voice added, "The procedure was that he'd delegate his orders to his own assistant in French, who would then have to retranslate it in English to the American officers. But after much cursing and missteps they finally got the army in good shape and high spirits, which showed that summer in the Battle of Monmouth, where they managed to fight the full British army to a draw, despite an early retreat from the field by General Charles Lee that may or may not have been treason."

"And it was also that battle that spawned the legend of Molly Pitcher from the exploits of two seperate women," Adrian put the finishing touches on the lecture, "I, I guess that's everything."

He got a rousing applause from the others. Ralph glanced at his speech notes. "Yep, that does pretty much cover everything I was going to bring up this morning," he said, "Well, I guess we'll move on to the next stop on the tour, which looks to be the Memorial Arch, so if you'll climb on in, we'll continue onward."

"How about a photo first?" Disher raised his camera again. Stottlemeyer pushed it down and shook his head at his adjutant. "Or you can take it for me, sir," the lieutenant shrugged and wandered into the doorway of the nearest hut with the others. Adrian decided, given his problems with the camera a few minutes ago, not to complain that people weren't lined up properly according to height, or that the buildings behind them weren't in straight lines. "Well, that, that was enjoyable," he remarked as they returned to the car.

"I think we found a second calling for you, Adrian," Jack told him, pulling back out into traffic.

"Like, like I said, Dad, not really," the detective shook his head, "I can't leave being a cop behind. It's too much of what I am."

Within five minutes they had reached the Arch. Adrian couldn't help but look at Kevin sitting miserably in the rental van while everyone else walked over to take a better look at the arch. Contrary to what he had told Ralph the previous night, he now felt like he had to say something to the boy. He slowly walked over to the van and knocked on the door. "Uh, mind, mind if I stick my head in for a little while?" he asked, doing just this, "Um, well, Kevin, I hope you're finding...what I'm saying is..."

"Not listening to you," Kevin told him bluntly without turning around, "You brought up that case to him."

"Yes, yes, I know, and, well, if this has caused any strain between the two of you, I didn't mean it," Adrian said apologetically, "If it's any consulation, which I doubt it is, I know exactly how you're feeling. It's time like this, when I was your age, I would always tell myself...I forget what. But anyway, this sort of is big what he and I and Mr. Maxwell are doing, but I don't...what I'm trying to say is..."

Kevin spun around and fixed him with an iron glare. "You don't know what I go through," he told him icily, "You don't know what it's like being alone for hours on end with no one to talk to. You don't know what it's like to be stabbed in the back by everyone. You're just some crazy guy who can't take care of himself. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone."

He reached for the door and yanked it shut on the detective. Adrian shook his head. It had at least been worth a try, he told himself. He wandered over to the road, where part of the blacktop had old cobblestones over it. He tapped at one with his shoe. "Now what?" Natalie had joined him.

"They should have made them all even," the detective complained, "Plus this one's worn down more. We should call the road service when we're all done here, I think we..."

He then heard what was distinctively a twig snapping nearby. He glanced up, but there was no one around nearby; the rest of the parties were a good seven hundred feet away at the least. "That's strange, I could swear someone's around here," he mused, "Someone else, that is."

"I think you're still worn out from packing," Natalie dismissed it. She glanced across the fields. "I'm really liking it here," she told him with a relaxed expression, "Can you imagine what it must have been like here two hundred years ago. All those people making all sorts of sacrifices in their lives for ideals they believed in. Their homes, their families, their jobs, everything, for freedom from all kinds of tyranny. It makes you wonder, would any of us today be willing to make those scarifices?"

"That, that is a good question," Adrian admitted, "I don't think I could."

"I KNOW you couldn't," she raised an eyebrow at him, "Staying anywhere without indoor plumbing is strictly off your books."

Adrian nodded softly. "But I do understand about sacrifices," he said, "Unfortunately, we all have to make them some way or another, for what we believe in, I guess, even if it's hard on others."

He glanced back at the van. "Mr. Monk, you're being philosophical," Natalie stared at him with a quizzical look, "Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

"No, I'm not, not that I know of," he said, stepping back off the road as a car drove by, "I hope not."

He kicked at the cobblestone one more time. "So, was Mitch ever here when he was here?" he had to ask.

"A few times," he eyes drifted back across the park dreamily, "He said he liked the Washington Chapel the best. That's why I've wanted..."

"We're pulling out," came Stottlemeyer's voice from across the way. The two of them hurried back. Adrian could still hear snapping twigs behind him. He glanced back. He could swear someone was there, even those there was no other signs of human presence anywhere in sight. A slight cold sweat was breaking out on his neck. Having seen that Ralph's suit had the power of invisibility, he wondered of the man with the evil version of it the aliens had mentioned had similar features on his. Perhaps they had been followed from the beginning of the tour...

"Adrian, what's that look on your face supposed to mean?" Sharona asked him as he got back in, "You look like you've just seen a nuclear spill."

"Oh, no, nothing, just a dream I had last night coming back," Adrian said quickly, "What's, what's the next stop on the tour?"

"Next stop is...," she consulted the guidebook, "...the Anthony Wayne statue."

"Can't say I ever heard of him," Stottlemeyer admitted.

"He was big all through the war, fought in most of the major battles, held the line at Monmouth when things weren't going well," Adrian explained, "Later he beat the Indians at Fallen Timbers."

"He also inspired the naming of Batman's civilian identity as Bruce Wayne," Ambrose added over the phone.

"Not to mention having several counties in several states named after him," Adrian glanced nervously out the back window. He now felt rather uneasy.

* * *

"Aren't you coming inside, Adrian?" Dr. Kroger asked him about fifteen minutes later. After having stopped at the Wayne statue and taken some pictures, they had all proceeded on to Washington's Headquarters. 

"Uh, no," Adrian glanced through the windows of the farmhouse in question, "It's, it's too crowded in there, I wouldn't last. I'll, I'll wait out here."

"All right, this shouldn't take too long, just wait for us in the back" the psychiatrist said. Adrian glanced around as his party walked toward the guide waiting at the door. He was even more worried now. At the Wayne statue he was certain he'd seen footprints appearing in the grass nearby out of seemingly thin air.

He strode over to the nearby stream bank, where Maxwell, who'd also declined the tour, was standing. "Take a look at this beauty, Monk," he proclaimed, pointing at the stream, "Pure country water. They don't come like this much any more. I ought to rent a rod and come back here and see if there's shad or trout in these waters. You ever go fishing?"

"No, can't say that I have," Adrian told him, "Not, not that I'd really want to, though; rowing out on a lake isn't really my thing. And there's no telling what's in any body of water."

He leaned in close to Maxwell and whispered, "I think we're being followed by an...an..." he choked on the words; it was all too bizarre for his mind to fathom, "...invisible man."

And then something caught his attention before Maxwell could respond. "Mr. Maxwell, take a look at that," he pointed.

"Where?" Maxwell squinted in the direction of the detective's finger.

"All the signs say no trespassing around this area, but there's tire tracks around that drainage pipe," Adrian told him, "A lot of foot traffic too; the weeds have been trampled. I think there's something inside that drainage pipe."

"Good golly, I think you're right there, Monk," Maxwell nodded as he saw this, "Well then, let's go take a gander while we're here."

He started down the embankment. "Uh, actually, let's, let's go call in some reinforcements," Adrian shook his head quickly, "I have a rule about anything involving..."

"Come on, you wimp," Maxwell gestured for him impatiently, "This country didn't get as far as it has by everyone chickening when it came to going into drain pipes. Now come on, it's just across this creek and into the tunnel."

"Could you carry me over?" Adrian had to ask.

"Carry you!?"

"Please?"

Maxwell sighed. "Nobody better be watching," he muttered, scooping Adrian up and carrying him across the stream and into the drainage tunnel, which was just big enough for both of them. Adrian's clautrophobia was kicking in again. "Maybe, maybe we could go get a backhoe and make this thing bigger first?" he proposed.

"A backhoe?" Maxwell stared at him in shock, "You really are impossible, Monk, you know that? You would have never made it at all in Korea. Well, what have we here?"

They had reached the end of the tunnel, and found themselves at a junction in what looked like a massive steel and concrete undergound bunker. "Incredible, the detective mused, "You have to wonder if they've taken enough care to brace the roof."

Maxwell either didn't hear him or ignored him. He pulled out his radio, "Ralph, come in, we found that place you were looking at," he said excitedly into it, "Ralph? Ralph are you there? Don't tell me you turned it off!"

Suddenly there came a sound of many guns clicking behind them. "Hands up, intruders!" came a familiar gravel voice.

"Colonel Bunker," Maxwell muttered, reluctantly handing over his gun to the men in fatigues holding their weapons at his skull, "I was wondering where you got to after you broke out of jail a few months ago."

"Well, well, Agent Maxwell, so nice to see you again," Bunker sneered, walking in front of his prisoners. "And Adrian Monk. A lot of us here at Caucasian Provinces have wanted to meet you. The home office has a hundred thousand dollar bounty on your head."

"And let, let me be the first to congratulate them on choosing a nice even sum," Adrian said quickly, "Oh well, we'd best be going."

He started to walk away. The biggest thug seized his arm hard. "Oh you and Maxwell are going to be going all right," Bunker told him, "The hard way, that is. Bring them this way, boys."

Adrian found himself and Maxwell being hauled down the hall. "Old friends of yours?" the detective asked the FBI agent.

"Oh yeah, big friend, Monk," Maxwell glowered at Bunker, "This rat tried to release the smallpox virus on the world a few years ago; threw me out of a helicopter too."

"SMALLPOX!!!??" Adrian was repulsed beyond belief, "Shoot him, shoot him now, please!!!"

"You know something, you really are a chicken, Monk," Bunker derided him coldly, "How you ever got up the Golden Gate Bridge to stop Ed Ertley I'll never know. Not that it's going to matter in a few minutes, mind you."

The two men were forced into a sparse room about five doors down with an ominous operating table in the middle. The detective was shoved down on top of it and locked down with solid iron restraints. "We, we are in contact with the authorities," he said as bravely as he could muster, "They know where we are."

"A, you're bluffing, and secondly, do you think the cops or feds stand a chance against us?" Bunker scoffed.

"He's not bluffing," Maxwell said defiantly as he was handcuffed to a pipe against the wall, "They do know everything. So you'd better give up now before you find every government law enforcement official imaginable storming your bunker, Bunker Not to mention my pal Ralph knows everything too When he..."

"We're not scared of Mr. Hinkley this time," Bunker said confidently, "We have things that'll stop him cold, regardless of however he does what he does."

He strode over to Adrian. "I'm asking one question, and I'm getting one answer," he told the detective, "How much do you know, and who all did you tell?"

"That's two questions, actually," Adrian pointed out.

Bunker slapped him. "Answer it!" he barked.

"Wasn't it two questions?" Adrian asked Maxwell.

"All right, that's it; Alter!" Bunker shouted out the door. Adrian's eyes widened as a wicked-looking man carrying what was clearly dental equipment came inside. "You've got five seconds to talk, Monk, or Alter here will give you some bridge work," the militia leader told him.

"I'd, I'd, I'd, I'd, I'd rather fix my own bridge, please!" Adrian whimpered, "Look, Colonel, I'd be happy to pay you ten dollars if you agree not to do this!"

"Ten bucks?" Bunker burst into laughter, "You're trying to bribe me with ten bucks, Monk?"

"Well, I think it's a fair bargain, not to mention a nice even amount of money," Adrian said, "Is this guy even licensed? I have...!"

The biggest goon pulled the detective's jaws open. Alter activated a very large drill. "Tell me Monk," he hissed softly, lowering it toward Adrian's teeth, "Is it safe?"


	8. Chapter 8

There came the sound of the roof collapsing in from above them. Adrian was relieved to see a familiar figure in the red suit spiral down to the ground with a loud thump, as he'd been doing so head over heels. "Ex, excellent timing there," he told Ralph. Ralph was a little to preoccupied to respond. The teacher was busy disarming Bunker's men and tossing them hard into the wall. One struck him over the head with a lead pipe, but it merely bent to the contours of Ralph's skull. Ralph pushed him away, seized the drill off of Alter, and crumbled it up into little pieces. Panicked, the would-be dentist turned and ran from the room. "Well what took you so long, Ralph?" Maxwell asked from the corner, "I paged you five whole minutes ago."

"Well Bill, I can't just sneak away when I'm in giving a lecture," Ralph pulled off Adrian's iron restraints with ridiculous ease. "Thank, thank you," the detective rose up, "I can tell they didn't sterilize those restraints. Does the suit clean things; I think my wrists might be contaminated by whoever was sitting here last."

There came rush of footsteps as more militants poured into the room. "Shoot them all!" Bunker ordered. Ralph stepped in front of Adrian and put his arms over his face. This deflected all the bullets away. Once they ran out of ammunition, the teacher grabbed their guns in a flash and bent them into knots. "No you don't," he spun and grabbed Bunker's arm as his foe was sneaking up on him with a large knife. He pushed the militant down on the table and fused the restraints onto him. "I was wondering what you were doing once you broke out, Colonel Bunker," he told him. "All right, now tell us what your plan is this time."

"And this better not be another smallpox plot," Adrian pointed a finger in Bunker's face, "Or I'll have to get...to get...very rough."

"You think I'm scared of you, Monk?" Bunker snorted at him.

"You should be scared, Bunker," Maxwell retorted as Ralph snapped his handcuffs in two, "The game's up, so start talking."

"I'm not scared of you or Hinkley either," Bunker said defiantly, "This country's outlaw government WILL be brought down by us, no matter what you try to do to stop it. Besides, my associate will more than take care of you."

Suddenly the wall to the room exploded inward. "And here he is now," the militant said contentedly. Adrian saw in the settling dust a very large, muscular man with long hair like his father and a drawn, cruel face. Also easily noticeable was the steel mechanical left arm he had. And the jet black version of Ralph's suit he was wearing. "All right, you're, you're under arrest, buster," the detective told him, "For sedition, murder, burglary, not entering a room at a marked entrance, not cleaning up after making said poor entrance, and most of all being deliberately assymetrical," he couldn't take his gaze off the very out of place robotic arm, "Mr. Maxwell, read him his..."

The arm shot out and seized him by the throat. Its grip was like a vise. "What they say is true, Comrade Monk," the man sneered with a familiar Russian accent, oblivious to his victim's desperate gasps for air, "You are poor excuse for human being."

"RALPH!!" Adrian whimpered in a barely audible voice as his opponent lifted him right up off the ground. The teacher lunged at the man in the copy of his suit, but a mere glare from this man apparently sent off some invisible power that sent him spiraling backwards to the floor. "Oh geez!" Maxwell groaned at the sight of his friend taking a licking, "Something tells me he managed to hang on to his manual, Ralph."

"Well, I"m open to any suggestions on how to stop him," Ralph staggered up from the floor.

"You can't stop him," Bunker laughed darkly, "Vasily, will you show our friends here some of the things you can do?"

"With pleasure Comrade Bunker," the Russian held up his good hand at Adrian as the detective tried to sneak away. Immediately Adrian found himself completely frozen in place, as if he'd been turned to stone. "Can, can I at least clean up the mess you made there before you kill me?" he mumbled through locked jaws. The Russian merely shoved his hand over the detective's chest where his heart was. Instantly Adrian had the horrible sensation it was swelling and preparing to explode. He was screaming in agony, but with his lips locked together he could hear nothing.

Several shots rang out. "Let the man have some air, bucko!" Maxwell shouted, shooting again even though it was clear this would have no effect on the Russian given that he was wearing the suit as well. It did, however, break his concentration on Adrian enough so that his spell or whatever it was over the detective eased. Adrian stumbled to the ground, gasping. He felt Ralph grab his hand. "Can't go yet," he protested, "I've got to fix the hole in the wall."

"Tell you what we can do," Ralph took Maxwell with his other hand and broke through the wall in a hasty escape, leaving another large hole in it. "Good thinking," Adrian nodded as they ran very fast up the hall--faster than a normal man certainly could--"But it's not the eaxct same size of the first hole. I'd better..."

Suddenly the Russian appeared from seemingly thin air in front of them. Ralph couldn't stop and crashed into his foe, bouncing off him as if he was a brick wall. "Going somewhere, my Yankee brother?" the Russian snarled, picking the teacher up like a rag doll and tossing him into the wall, cracking it significantly. Without really thinking, Adrian leaped in front of the man and kicked him in the one place that was almost always disabling. The only one injured, however, was he himself, for the area in question was as hard as rock. The detective hopped about in pain, clutching his foot. The next thing he knew the Russian had almost magically teleported in front of him again...and the detective found himself abruptly levitating off the ground. "No, not that!" he begged, "Heights...I can't..."

"Good," the Russian squinted his eyes. Adrian's head was rammed into the ceiling several times. He then found himself spinning in circles in midair. He shut his eyes, desperate for it to stop or to just be killed and have it all over with. Without warning he stopped and plummetted toward the floor...

But luckily Ralph jumped into the air and caught him before he hit. "Hold on," his associate said, flying toward the ceiling and smashing through the steel and concrete into the afternoon sky. "You won't get far, brother!" the detective could hear the Russian shouting below them, "I will find you and stop you no matter where you go! And you can't stop me!"

The rest of his threat was lost among the rush of the air around them as they climbed haphazardly into the sky. "You're too high, you're too high!" Adrian cried, keeping his eyes shut, "Take her down lower...BUT NOT THAT WAY!!!!"

Ralph was losing control and spiraling out of the sky again. Moments later they smacked hard into a tree and slid to the ground. Adrian groaned and rubbed his head hard. "I, I really think you need to work on the steering thing," he told a dazed Ralph.

"I work with him all the time on it, but apparently it doesn't seem to work no matter what we try," Maxwell extracted himself from under Ralph's arm, "Well, at least now we know who and what we're up against."

"The green guys were right, Bill, that suit he's got IS more powerful," Ralph shook his head, "I could feel the raw energy this guy's got while I was fighting him. Pam," having noticed they were not more than five hundred yards away from Washington's Headquarters, and seeing his wife nearby, waved for he to bring his clothes over. "Ralph, what have you been through?" she exclaimed, noticing he looked much the worse for wear after the battle.

"It was terrible," Adrian said, "This guy, he's pretty powerful. But worst of all, he's assymetrical. If we..."

"Adrian," his father was approaching as well. Ralph quickly made himself invisible again. "Where have you been?" the trucker asked with a good degree of impatience, "We've been standing around waiting for you for fifteen minutes now. Before we go, I'd like to show you that train station up there," he pointed to the structure at the top of a nearby hill, "When I was young, and we took the train into the city on the weekends, we'd stop for..."

"Can't, can't look now, Dad, we'd best get going," Adrian pushed him back towards the cars, "There are guys here who want to kill all of us; sooner we get back to town, the better."

"Kill?" Jack frowned at him, "Adrian, would you mind telling me what's going on here?"

"I, I really can't tell you," the detective shook his head, wishing he somehow could, "We should just leave, now."

* * *

"No, no, the hair was longer," Adrian told Lieutenant Colton some time later as Disher's former associate drew out the Russian's description on his computer, "Not, not that long, you're an inch over. No, it wasn't that straight." 

"Mr. Monk, we're going to be here for the rest of July at this rate," Colton said with a tinge of impatience. Although they'd been out it for a half hour, the only part of the sketch he had on screen was a single strand of the Russian's hair.

"Never mind, lieutenant, I can access the whole thing from my bureau's files," Maxwell muttered. The FBI man reached over and closed out the file. He then typed out the FBI's address and entered his password. "Password?" Adrian inquired.

"Huh?" Maxwell looked up.

"Your password is 'password?'" the detective pointed out.

"Think of it this way, Monk, it's the last one they'd think of," Maxwell rationalized it.

"Part of the FBI's wonderful security system," Pam said with a certain amount of sarcasm.

"Not you too, Counselor," Maxwell mumbled. He typed in the relevant information about the Russian's description. "Well, well, hello to you, Vasily Maximovich Karponov," he stated as a photo of what was definitely the Russian appeared on the screen, "Wanted by the World Court for numerous crimes against humanity."

"Wait a minute, something's not right with the database here," Colton stared at the screen, "Born 1901? You're absolutely sure this is the man that attacked you?"

"Oh it was definitely him," Adrian nodded, "And he's still quite dangerous all these years later, especially since he's so assymetrical. That's definitely his worst...excuse me."

He strode over to the nearest desk, lifted up the lid of the donut box sitting on it, and rearranged the donuts inside in rows of twos, much to the irritation of the sergeant sitting behind the desk. "You'll thank me later," he told the sergeant.

He walked back over to Colton's desk and skimmed over Karponov's rap sheet. "Former KGB, NKVD," he read, "Wanted for mass murder, torture, assassination, terrorist actions." He then added, "Not to mention he's assymetrical."

"I think you have mentioned that at least once before," Colton said, somewhere between frustrated and amused.

"Hey Colt, phone for you," called another officer from across the room.

"I'll be back after I take this," Colton strolled off. "Actually, now that I see this, I have heard of this yo-yo," Maxwell whispered softly once they were alone, "Over the last thirty years or so, the FBI's talked to a bunch of dissidents who weaved big grandiose tales of some mysterious superman who kicked them around after they'd been arrested in ways that no mortal guy could do. A superman with one arm, I might add. One guy I talked to firsthand said his parents had been left literally besides themselves by the same guy during the drive to collectivize. Trust it to the evil green guys to give their version of the jammies to a crazed Commie; they knew they'd have..."

"Bill, for the last time, will you stop referring to every Russian as a Commie!?" Ralph protested, "As I've told you at least four hundred times already, most Russians even during the height of the Soviet Union's power were average, peace-loving people like us who just wanted to live happy and fulfilling lives and had no qualms with us. It's people making absurd generalizations like that that makes the world so tense today." The teacher glanced at the screen. "Hang on, he was born near the spot of the Tunguska Blast," he noticed, "You don't suppose...that could have been how he got the suit?"

"Since we've already left reality with this whole case, I suppose it's possible," Adrian shrugged. He was already wondering whether the D.A. would have them all committed once the report of the case was submitted.

Colton came back over. "County forces searched the area you described," he told them, "They found that bunker of yours, but whoever was there abandoned it already. Completely cleaned out."

"They sure are quick," Maxwell commented, "Well, Colton, tell them to put out an A.P.B. on Colonel Bunker and Karponov; we have strong suspicions they're up to something no good."

"If it is a plot, I think I know what it is," Colton reached for the newspaper on his desk, "Fresh off the press this morning, the president's going to be in town for the Fourth of July."

"That's interesting," Adrian read the newspaper's headline. A lot of pieces were falling into place. "What about Cathy?" he asked Colton, "We already established she's innocent."

"Unfortunately there's still the matter of her fingerprints at the scene," Colton shook his head, "Unless you've got something that proves for sure she wasn't there, Monk, the D.A.'s going to prosecute her for the robbery and murder."

"I'm, I'm working on it," the detective said, "Just need more time, that's all."

"Well really, they can't do it to her regardless," Pam stated firmly, "Since there's probable cause that she didn't do it, they can't hold her; I've reasearched the laws many times in law school and practice. What's the D.A.'s office's number; I'd like to file an injunction on her behalf for her release."

"I can't guarantee you any success, Mrs. Hinkley, but here's the number," Colton wrote it down for her.

"I'd also like a talk with her to get her full side of the story, for the benefit of the presentation I'd make," the lawyer requested as well.

"You guys really care about her fate, don't you?" Colton inquired, sympathetic, "OK, come on with me, Mrs. Hinkley, we'll make the necessary arrangements."

He led Pam off. "Well, at least now we know what their game is," Maxwell remarked, holding up the newspaper, "Can you believe the nerve of these guys wanting to kill the president?"

"And why not, it seems everyone else wants to," Adrian rearranged Colton's desk again.

"We haven't got much time, so here's the scenerio: Ralph, you go out and..." the FBI agent started.

"Sorry, Bill, we're due at the zoo in an hour," Ralph checked his watch, "And I'm not wearing the suit anymore today; my students, my son, they all need my undivided attention for once on this trip."

"Not wear the jammies!? Ralph, have you gone...!?"

"Bill, my life does not revolve around these cases," the teacher said firmly, "Now you can come or you can stay here, but my mind's made up."

"Can, can we stop back at the hotel first, though," Adrian had to ask, "If we are on for the zoo, I need to be prepared."


	9. Chapter 9

"So, you think you're prepared enough for a disaster, Detective M?" Tony asked him as they walked through the gate of the Philadelphia Zoo, noticing the suitcases of wipes and other cleaning materials on the two racks the detective was dragging along behind himself.

"One can never come too prepared to a zoo," Adrian stated, "People leave germs everywhere in here. Not to mention the animals aren't very clean."

"Well Mr. Monk, you do know you can't go around cleaning every single cage in here," Natalie reminded him.

"Point out to me the exact spot in the rule book where it says that," Adrian countered. He stopped for a moment to check the topmost suitcase. Sure enough, the radiation suits he'd brought for an emergency was there and accounted for. "All set," he nodded.

"Hey Monk!" came an annoying shout from behind him. Adrian found himself face to face with a bratty-looking kid, who immediately started coughing deliberately at him. Adrian frantically tore open the suitcases containing the cold medicine he'd brought and started tossing tablets wildly at his tormentor, who kept going with sadistic delight. Finally, he was stopped when Julie seized his arm. "Lay off him!" she ordered, raising a fist.

"Oh, I'm really scared of a girl!" he snorted.

"You should be scared!" Benjy added his own fist to the equation, "Now get lost!"

Faced with superior numbers, the boy took off. "Thank, thank you you two," Adrian commended them. His gaze fell upon the large balloon floating in the sky, prompting him to wince. "They, they really have it...high," he commented to no one in particular, apparently not noticing or caring that the balloon was firmly tethered to the ground and not likely to drift off. No one paid any attention to him. "All right guys, you can go off on your own in here; I trust you won't cause any problems," Ralph told his students, "We'll all meet back here in about three hours or so, that should be enough time."

"Or until the next big crisis blows up and you have to go off again," Kevin growled under his breath.

"He, he won't this time, Kevin, it's..." Adrian started to say

"Didn't I say I'm not listening to you?" the boy told him antagonistically, "Now I'm staying right here. The rest of you go on, but I refuse to be with either HIM or HIM."

He pointed at his father and Adrian with thinly veiled contempt that made Adrian feel guiltier than ever that he had brought the case up to Ralph. "Do you want to go with us, Kevin?" Sharona proposed to him.

"I don't care, as long as it's not with them," Kevin said firmly. He started storming off down the path to his left. Sharona gave Adrian a puzzled look before following after the boy. The group started splintering into twos and threes and trotting off down different paths. "We've, we've got to find someone who can get through to him," Adrian remarked slowly, picking up several pieces of trash on the ground with his claw, "Maybe I can get Dr. Kroger to put him down for an appointment."

"What we need is to solve this case soon so can I dump that stupid suit once and for all," Ralph muttered darkly, "It's too much of a hassle now; I'm not losing him for good. Well, I guess it's you and I, Mr. Monk."

Everyone else had left by now. "Guess so," Adrian shrugged, "And you can call me Adrian. I think I like you. First stop, is...small mammal house," he took note of the nearest sign. They trudged over towards it. Adrian dug into the suitcases once they'd approached the door; he could tell the glass was far from clean. To the amazement of onlookers, he sprayed down the glass with window cleaner and wiped it down hard. He then opened the door with his elbow and repeated the procedure on the inner glass. "Oh, they didn't mop the floor in here either!" he lamented, examining it with great scrutiny, "Luckily I came prepared."

He opened another suitcase and began assembling a portable mop. "I've got to have a word with management; they need to make some sweeping changes here," he told Ralph over his shoulder, "They also put seventeen exhibits in here; as the oldest zoo in the country, they should know an even number of cages per building is better."

He sprayed cleaner on the end of the mop and started scrubbing the floor in nice, even lines. Ralph merely nodded and walked over to the nearest cage. "Fruit bats," he commented, watching them flutter around the exhibit, "You ever seen any of these up close, Adrian?"

"Can't say I have," Adrian moved the mop towards the exhibit railing, "Not that I really want to; you know how badly bats end up...going."

"Well bats are a lot more beneficial than people tend to realize," Ralph said, "They're not even remotely as vicious as they're made out to be, and even the vampire bats don't really hurt the animals they bite. And they certainly don't carry rabies."

"I'm, I'm aware of that," Adrian nodded. He looked up at the bats. "Two of them have children," he pointed at the relevant ones, "Their lives are so much simpler; they only need food and space. They don't have to worry about things being out of order, just whatever nature programmed them to think. And they know their mothers will be there for them, especially around here where they have nowhere else to go."

He leaned against the mop and let out a deep sigh. "Tell me, Ralph, is being a parent really worth it?" he had to know.

"Why do you ask?" Ralph inquired.

"Oh, just curious after things I've seen, and personal experiences," Adrian said, staring intently at the young bats, "Sometimes I wonder what kind of a parent I would have made, having gone through the things I have, seing spouses kill spouses or walk away from families."

"Did you and your wife ever think about having kids?" Ralph asked.

"Trudy mentioned it a few times; I kept saying there'd be lots of time," Adrian shook his head sadly, "How I wish I could have that time. But then again, what kind of a parent would I be? I'd, I'd probably drive the kid away after a few years. Or even if I didn't, I'd probably let them down some way or another, and believe me, there's no more painful feeling that having a child think you've failed them as a parent. I've seen it enough."

He stared at the floor. "Well, Adrian, you certainly do have some points," Ralph told him, "Parenting is a tough task no matter what type of person you are. It's a full-time commitment, and you should indeed make sure you're ready for it before you jump into it. But if I could tell you a secret, if you are prepared for it, it's the most rewarding experience you could have. The day Kevin came out of the operating room has always been the happiest of my life. And maybe someday you will be lucky enough to have a child of your own, to share their important moments with them, to watch them grow and mature. And when those moments come, you'll know it was worth it."

"I, I hope so," Adrian said, "But I doubt it. There won't be any besides Trudy for me. I just couldn't marry again; you might, but I can't."

He glanced wishfully at his wedding ring. "Yes, I think about what might have been a lot," he remarked slowly, "Not least of all that I could have been with her that day. She asked me to go with her; I told her no, I wasn't feeling up to it. Then at least we'd be together still. Together forever. Truthfully, Ralph, there are days I would give anything to go back and be in that car with her when the bomb went off. It's horrific going through each day alone."

"I'll bet it is," Ralph nodded, "But don't think that way, not with all the good you've done for others."

"I'm, I'm trying not to think that way more often," Adrian nodded, "But I still can't help thinking about what might have been. I wonder if anyone else does too?"

* * *

"Look sir, stray peacock," Disher pointed to one as he and Stottlemeyer walked by the reptile house. 

"Yeah, it says in the guide they let them run free here as part of some big breeding program," Stottlemeyer consulted the zoo map, "Monk's going to go nuts when they come up to him."

The captain took a deep breath of air. "I really needed this vacation," he confided in Disher, "Too much of a workload back home and all. The good part is, at least Monk hasn't been giving me as much of a headache as I thought he would. Of course it helps he's off with that blowhard Maxwell a lot."

He laughed to himself. "We have a civic duty as Americans to run rampant everywhere and do whatever we need to to keep the Stars and Stripes waving proudly over this great and noble land of ours, especially since happiness is a warm pistol," he said in a mocking imitation of Maxwell, "I'll tell you, Randy, they don't need to set off fireworks this week. You'd just have to lock that nutball in a room with Karen, and the two of them would set off more fireworks in thrity minutes than this whole country does all year."

Disher nodded as they approached the hippo exhibit and watched the large creatures swim sluggishly through their pool. "Have you heard from her lately, Captain?" he asked, snapping another blinding-flash photo of the hippos that made Stottlemeyer cringe.

"Not her, no, but Max told me on the phone after you'd gone to bed the first night that she was ready to get up on the stand and put Nicolas Hallett away for life," Stottlemeyer informed him, "And that Marshall the Monk-in-law..."

"Monk-in-law, Captain?" Disher asked, confused.

"You've seen the guy, Randy, he might as well be Monk's other brother the way he wants everything cleaned," his superior said, "And given that we're off duty, there's no need to call me Captain at the moment. But anyway, Marshall's been with her the whole time. Before the whole Hallett case I would have derided the two of them as a match, but seeing now that they do care for each other, might as well give them my blessing. It's clear he can give Karen what I can't, and for her to be happy, might as well let go."

He sighed as he leaned over the fence of the enclosure. "Still, you can't help thinking that if one little thing here or there had played out a little differently, we might still be together, even though we'd probably still be hating each other to death twenty-four seven. She drove me mad like you wouldn't believe, but I still saw--still see--the caring woman underneath that should bring some kind of joy to Marshall...unless he believes in the right to bear arms, then he's screwed from day one."

He started walking up the pathway again. "In the meantime, sir, you might end up meeting Cathy before we go back," Disher said, rushing to catch up with him, "Monk said he's got Hinkley's wife working on getting her out on lack of evidence. Did I tell you I think about what may have been if I'd stayed her and married her?"

"Are you going to propose, that why you're asking me?" Stottlemeyer inquired.

"I don't know, sir, Disher admitted, "She is coming off a rather rough divorce, she maybe now wouldn't be the best time to bring up any proposal, but something inside me's saying right now, 'Go get her, you fool, it's the last chance you'll get.'"

"That's one inside battle I'd love to see," the captain said with another chuckle, "But my advice is listen to the guy telling you to go for it, because it's right; you may never get another chance to make ammends."

He gave Disher a solemn look as he gave this advice. Disher nodded firmly. "I will, when I see her next, thanks sir," he said. Then he blurted out, "Sir, do you ever wonder what might have been sometimes?"

"Every day of my life, Randy, every day of my life," Stottlemeyer parked himself in front of the elephants. He shut his eyes as Disher took a photo of him and the elephant right behind him before continuing, "It's summer 1981, I'm still courting Karen, we're staying at the Ten Pines Lodge in the mountains. We had our first real big spat over that I wanted to go hunting, and she gave her patented guns-are-the-devil-incarnate sermon. We split, I stay out on the patio, and this attractive blond waitress comes over and asks if I'd like some company since her shift's ending. We talked for about an hour, I learned she'd liked a lot of stuff I did, and she said if she wanted to know her better, to come up to her room at ten past midnight. I lay wide away in bed for an hour and a half with the dilemma: stay with someone you know and do love but who doesn't seem to appreciate your opinions on anything, or go to someone you basically don't know who seems to care for you, but you can't be sure what their intentions are. A long story short, in the end I rolled over in bed and decided I'd rather stay with Karen and know for sure what I was getting into. Of course, you know that lately, I've been having seconds thoughts on this."

"You haven't heard from her since then?" Disher asked.

"Nope," Stottlemeyer shook his head, "She's long gone from the phonebook of my life. Although then again, who's to say things WOULD have been better with her anyway? Maybe she'd turned to have been a drunk and abusive. That's the one problem with love, you're always shooting in the dark."

There was a trumpeting behind them. "Good shot," Disher scrambled up on the bench to get an unobstructed view of the elephant as it finished drinking from the fountain in the enclosure and raised into trunk high, "All right now, say cheese."

The elephant pointed its trunk straight Disher and squirted him with a blast of water instead. Disher sputtered in shock. "You had it coming, you know," Stottlemeyer leaned over to tell him.

* * *

Natalie was laughing hard at the sight of Disher's predicament just up the walkway. "Wasn't that the funniest thing you ev--what's wrong??" she turned to see the usually impregnable Sharona with her hands over her eyes and quivering. "Can we just, just, just go?" she asked hastily, "The elephants, they don't..." 

"Oh, right, your thing with the elephants and all that," Natalie remembered being told of this, "Well then, uh, how about the primate reserve?"

Sharona nodded hard and quickly walked away from the elephant's vicinity. Natalie followed, shaking her head (they'd trusted their children enough to let them go out on their own for a while). Apparently the legend of the "Pachyderm Puss" Sharona (Disher's term, not Adrian's) was true indeed.

When she caught up the nurse inside the reserve's main building, with its converted timber mill design, it was a much happier Sharona watching the chimpanzees covert around behind the glass. "I always had a fondness for monkeys," she confided in the one-time bartender, "Did I tell you about the case with Darwin the chimp?"

"Julie may have heard it from Benjy one of the first times they were hooked up," Natalie admitted, "She gave me a few details: the captain made a complete fool of himself, right?"

"Did he ever," Sharona snorted with laughter at the thought of Stottlemeyer running around the interrogation room acting like a three-year-old in an attempt to get Darwin the Chimp to "confess." "You really should have been there for that; it was a moment for the ages."

She stepped back to allow several excited children to mob the glass. The two woman plopped down on a bench. Natalie offered Sharona a drink of soda from one of the bottles of it she'd brought (they were burried under almost fifty of Adrian's emergency Sierra Spring stash). "So, you've asked me how I've been holding up earlier," she told the nurse, "How about you? Will success spoil the Fleming family?"

"I'm trying not to let it," Sharona admitted, "Not least of all keeping sure Benjy only get a small amount for spending each month. As you'd expect, he's not always keen on this agreement, but since this is how I'm getting him into college, that's the way it's going to be, period. In the meantime, it's not too bad being mobbed by people in the streets like you said Adrian is. In fact its good to know I've finally made something for my son in his life to ensure he'd have a good future."

"Or is it the other way around?" Natalie had to point out.

"Could be," the nurse said. She unexpectedly sighed. "But while they love me now, will they forgive me for leaving him?" he asked out loud, sounding very concerned, "It was just the right time for me to get out, it was the best decision I could make under the circumstances. But what if the screaming fans don't see it that way? What if I'm just a traitor for them when that time comes?"

"Well, Sharona, you're not a traitor, not at all," Natalie reassured her, "And for the record, I never could have made it through the first few months with him without your advice. I think that qualifies on continuing to help him, and then being handy for him to cinch the deal on his life story for all of us. I hope."

"Benjy's right; audiences are going to like you," Sharona gave her reassurance back, "The show's not going to crash after I leave, I can tell you that right now."

"Thank you," Natalie smiled, "And how's the hottest new writer in TV doing?"

"He's still way up on cloud nine," Sharona smiled herself, "Luckily it isn't getting to his head; I think he kind of got the sense that working in TV isn't a free pass in itself; you've got to work hard. Coming here to see Mr. Monk in person as a conquering hero for him was all he talked about for the last month. Although, he still wishes that...well, you can guess, other people could have been here as well. As do I."

She hung her head. "They still haven't found the body yet, have they?" she inquired.

"No trace," Natalie shook her head, "The lieutenant says they're throwing in the towel after the next round of searches and pronouncing him dead. I know you probably would have liked a body to make sure, you know, he couldn't come back to try anything else."

She fell silent as well. Neither would ever forgot the showdown with Trevor two Christmases prior when, after breaking out of jail after being convicted of having Sharona kidnapped by the mob to be bumped off, he'd gone on a horrific revenge spree on them in San Francisco, one that had included such abhorrent tactics as blowing up their houses, beating both women to an inch of their lives, and attempting to hurl their children into a watery grave. Only the miraculous intervention of the Monk brothers had saved Julie and Benjy's lives. Trevor had then been shot apparently to death by unknown sources just as he was about to tell Adrian key information on Trudy's murder, and his body lost to the bay...permanently, it now seemed. Or was it...?

"There are nights," Sharona admitted, "I can't sleep, but I don't want to roll over becuase I'm afraid he'll be standing right there, looking hideously insane and ready to kill me. A body would put an end to all these if they could just find it wherever it is." She sighed sadly. "Sometimes, the truth is, I wonder if I just should have stayed with him from the beginning. Sure, he'd keep on cheating, gambling, and everything else that I left him for the first time, but he probably wouldn't have completely snapped like he did."

"Although you can never be too sure; it may still have happened anyway," Natalie pointed out, "How about other regrets? Like moving on?"

"That I don't regret as much," Sharona told him firmly, "Seven years was too long; I was at the end of my rope anyway and needed an out. One came so I took it. And by and large I'm happy I did; Adrian's better as a minimal part of my life. But at the same time," she now looked puzzled, "I do find I miss him a lot. Not to come back to him on a full-time basis, certainly not, but there are times I just simply miss the guy, even tough he drove me to drink half the time. That's why I jumped at the chance to be on this vacation with all of you when his father set it up; I needed just one more touch of the good old days. It's really, really strange."

She took another sip of soda. "Now that you've deconstructed me, let me deconstruct you," she told Natalie, "What do you wish you could have taken back now?"

Natalie thought long and hard. "Mitch was stationed near the city before the orders to head to Kosovo came in," she related slowly, "He asked if we'd come with him, that he'd pull the strings to make it work. I thought it over really hard. My final choice was that I didn't want to uproot Julie at her age and have her spend several months overseas and out of the loop. So the last I saw Mitch, he was standing on the stern of the ship as it pulled out into harbor on its way to the Balkans. Sometimes I wish I'd said yes, so I least I could have...could have been near him, with him when he died. That I could have given the man who meant more to me than anything one last kiss before he flew off to...well, destiny."

"Well at least it wasn't all for vain," Sharona said, looking somewhat upset that she could never have been able to talk about Trevor in similarly heroic terms, "If you've read the papers you'll know they're about to grant Kosovo independence. His work all paid off."

"Yes, it looks like it did," Natalie looked dreamy, "Mitch genuinely cared for the plight of the Kosovoans. His next flight after the one that took him would have been a large-scale humanitarian effort that would have given hundreds of refugees food and toys. He was really looking forward to it, he told me in our last letter."

"Hey Sharona, I need more wipes NOW!!" the bratty kid from earlier had reappeared and was leaning over them. A quick flash of the nurse's fists, however, sent him running in fear. "Should we move on?" she asked Natalie.

"Absolutely," the former bartender said, brushing through the crowd, "For the record, there are times I want to walk away from Mr. Monk as well, but something always keeps me coming back for more. There's just something about him, I don't know what, that can just magnitize you to him for life."

* * *

"And up he goes," Jack gestured with his arm as the polar bear behind the glass in the exhibit in front of Dr. Kroger and himself rose to the surface of its pool and dove down again, "I always liked these guys; they put on a great show." 

"You said you had been here before?" Dr. Kroger inquired.

"Weekends in the summer when I was young, the train came down from New Hope into the city," Jack told him, "Admission was a quarter. Good days, very good days."

He leaned against the railing and watched the bear swim out of sight. "I took Adrian to the San Fran zoo once when he was six," he informed the psychiatrist, "I was expecting a headache, but he wasn't too bad. The only problems came when there was a huge crowd in the ape house, and we were locked in place for ten minutes. He was starting to hyperventilate, but we got out of there in time."

He took a handful of the popcorn he'd purchased and swallowed it. "So, you never did tell me how long you've been his shrink," he told Dr. Kroger.

"Ten years now," Dr. Kroger said, "It's been, to say the least, an unusual experience for both of us."

"Did he mention me at all, Doc? I just, you know..."

"He brought your name up a few times," Dr. Kroger told the trucker, "Truthfully, it was quite painful for him to mention it openly. I could see the disappointment of being alone in his voice. It has certainly affected him."

"Well, you should know, Doc, that walking away was very tough for me," Jack admitted, "I agonized over whether to do it for weeks. What it all came down to in the end was that I just couldn't live there anymore. If you'd been married to his mother for fourteen years, you might think the same way. It was too much for me between her, him, and Ambrose; I just wasn't happy anymore. Doesn't the Constitution say that we as Americans have the right to seek happiness?"

"It does, yes," Dr. Kroger said, "But I hope you realize, Jack, that everything we as people do has effects on others."

"I'm starting to see things differently now," Jack shook his head, "Maybe I should have stayed and been miserable; then maybe he might have grown out of...what he's got and all. Of course, it's easy to look back when you get closer to death like I am and naturally wonder what could have been. I'll be sixty-nine in two months; who knows how much longer I have left? That's why I wanted both him and Ambrose here, Doc." After a brief pause, he added, "Do you think I"m a failure, Doc?"

"Jack, no man who tries sincerely to change is a failure," Dr. Kroger told him, "You do sincerely want to reconnect with your children, don't you?"

"I certainly do now," the trucker said, "You know, I never did forget about them, though. When I'd be on the road late at night, the memories would come back, especially after Jack Jr. went downhill and stopped caring about life. I started having second thoughts about going away even before last Christmas. That's why I tried to stop by that Halloween, to say that I was still thinking about them. I had to go after fifteen minutes--the boss had me on a tight schedule, I had to be in Phoenix by morning--but it did feel nice to be back for once."

He glanced into the cage. "Well, looks like the bear's had enough," he remarked, "Might as well move on to the giraffes over there." As they walked toward there he had to ask, "Do you have any regrets, Doc?"

"Well, Jack," Dr. Kroger's brow furled, "There was this one time in college, when this opportunity came up to me I wanted to take. You see..."

* * *

"...and in here we've got..." Julie glanced into the exhibit at the back of the rare mammal house, "The echidna." 

"He's ugly," Benjy commented at the sight of the spiked creature shuffling about its enclosure.

"The western long-beaked echidna, scientific name _Zaglossus bruijni_, is one of four species of echidnas native to New Guinea," Ambrose stated over the phone, "Specifically, they're found in the moderate highland regions of the country and feed mostly on worms and larvae. Along with the duckbilled platypus, echidnas are the only surviving monotremes on this planet today, laying one to three eggs twenty-two days after impregnation. The young then stay in the mother's pouch until they start growing their spines, at which point they are forcibly ejected into a burrow and fed until they are ready to live on their own."

"That's amazing," Benjy told him, impressed, "But then tell me, how long do they live?"

"Average lifespan is between 45 and 55 years in the wild," the instruction manual writer said.

"It's too bad you don't get out more, because you would have been perfect to bring in for show and tell," the girl commended him. She turned about, "Isn't that amazing, Kevin?"

"Whatever," the younger boy grumbled, not at all interested in the echidna or any other animals in the building. "You know, what do you really hold against your father that's so bad?" she had to ask him, "He seems like a nice man to me."

"You mean apart from the fact he's a liar and cares more about being with Mr. Maxwell than me!?" Kevin snarled, "You tell me, how am I supposed to feel!?"

"Well he was crying last night after he came in to watch the show with us," Julie told him, "He has feelings too, and I think you might have hurt them."

"So what? He's hurt me enough. You just can't trust any grown-ups, simple as that."

"Grown-ups have problems too, Kevin," Benjy pointed out, "You have to realize that. That doesn't always make them less of a person. My Dad," he covered his face, uncomfortable with digging up painful memories, "He had...problems. But I knew he always loved me, even up till the end."

"Wasn't he the guy who...?" Kevin started to say.

"Yes, yes, he was," the older boy cut him off quickly, "But even after that, he wasn't all bad. Nobody's all bad. And I still forgive him. Because I choose to remember him as the man who cared for me through his problems. And that's why you should forgive your father too."

Kevin sighed, clearly conflicted. "But he keeps leaving when I need him!" he moaned.

"That doesn't always means he wants to leave you," Julie pointed out, "I can tell he does love you. You just have to give him a chance. Relationships are two way streets, my Mom always says, and if you can't do your part, how can he do his?"

Kevin had no response to this. "If you live your life hating, Kevin, you'll turn into someone you're not going to like," Benjy added, "I don't think you want that to happen. Now come on, lighten up, he'll always be your father. And would you even be here without him? We're just saying you need to reconsider things. You'll be a lot happier."

"He's absolutely right, Kevin," Ambrose said from the phone, "You have to forgive and move ahead. That's how I've handled it myself for years. Are those naked mole rats over there?"

* * *

"I think I missed a spot back there when I was mopping," Adrian fretted. He and Ralph were now standing before the giant tortoises outside the reptile house. 

"No, actually, I think you did get the whole floor in there mopped down, Adrian," Ralph reassured him. He glanced at the tortoises lumbering around before them. "It's amazing isn't it, realizing that some of these guys might have been alive when Nicholas II and Emilio Aguinaldo were in office."

"They, they have a pretty charmed life," Adrian agreed, "They get to take everything nice and slow, no worries. Wouldn't want to live around with them though; it's known they tend to leave...oh, wait, sir," he noticed a zookeeper was wheeling some cleaning utensils toward the exhibit, "Don't, don't worry, I can clean it up for you." He dug out a radiation suit and started putting it on.

Suddenly loud screams came from down the pathway. The detective's head jerked around. "Now what?" he had to ask. His question was answered as he saw the front gate on the kangaroos' enclosure nearby explode open as if by magic and its residents hop away. "Karponov," the detective realized, "He must be here planning..."

"Run for your lives!" a man ran by screaming. A gorilla was huffing along behind him, roaring. "It's OK, sir," Ralph called after him, "Gorillas aren't dangerous at all. You just..."

The gorilla stopped in front of them. Picking up the detective and the teacher before they could react, it tossed them among the tortoises. "Unless of course Karponov's powers include probing animals' minds to bring out their base instincts," Ralph finished his sentence.

A sinister laugh could be heard loudly from inside the reptile house. As they turned, the entire side of the building exploded. Adrian grimaced at the mess this made. His attention was diverted from this, though, by the numerous snakes now slithering free among the debris. Shrieking in terror, he leaped over the railing and ran for the nearest tree. "Kill them!" he screamed to the nearest zookeepers as he scrambled up it, "Kill them, kill, kill them!"

He reached a high branch that would probably be out of the snakes' reach for now. A loud growl behind him told him he'd made a mistake, however. He turned very slowly to see a lion standing on the branch behind him. "Nice, nice boy," he said weakly, "Uh, I don't think I'd really do your diet much good."

The lion roared fiercely and advanced across the branch toward him, brandishing its claws. Adrian backed away as best he could, trying not to look down. He could feel the branch sagging under their combined weight. He gripped it for all it was worth. Suddenly the branch broke clean in two, sending him and the lion spiraling to the ground. Luckily Ralph leaped out and caught him. The nearest zookeeper tossed a net over the lion before it could recouperate. "You all right?" the teacher asked him.

"Fine, just fine," Adrian glanced around for snakes, "Boy, I've heard the term 'It's a jungle out there,' but this really puts new..."

A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "It's a jungle out there?" he repeated, "Hang on, that might just make..."

"Watch out!" Ralph cried to a little girl who was unknowingly in the path of a rhinoceros barrelling at top speed up the path. The teacher ran toward her and shoved her out of harm's way...but found himself straight in the rhino's path with no time to get out of the way. And Adrian remembered with a sickening thought that Ralph wasn't wearing the suit. He looked away just before the collission, but couldn't block out the horrific crunching sound, or Ralph's painful scream. The detective leaped out of the rhino's path as it rumbled by him, then rushed with a horrified expression to where Ralph lay crumpled. "Medic!" he cried out to anyone who could help.


	10. Chapter 10

Adrian saw Pam and Maxwell running up the hall of the hosptial toward him. He rose up from his chair. "They, they're asking for privacy for him while they look him over," he told them.

"How is he!?" Pam asked worriedly.

"Uh, it's sort of a 6.49562 on a scale of 10," Adrian said, "He took quite a bashing, but they say he'll live."

It was at that moment that the doctor stuck his head through the door of Ralph's room. "OK, if you're here for Mr. Hinkley, you can see him now," he informed them, "Just try not to get him too excited."

The three of them shuffled into the room, where Ralph lay heavy bandaged on the bed. "Uh, doctor," Adrian tugged his sleeve before he could leave, "Could you bandage his left leg too before he goes?"

"Why?' the doctor frowned, "Only his right leg's broken."

"But it would be nice and even," the detective pointed out.

"But his left leg's not broken."

"But it would be nice and even."

"But his left leg's not broken."

"But it would be nice and...where are you going?" Adrian watched the doctor walk away. "Maybe I should put it on myself," he shrugged.

"Monk, will you get a grip?" Maxwell told him. He walked over to his associate. "I told you to wear the jammies, kid," he scolded him.

"Bill, I told you before...OOOOWWWWW!!" Ralph yelped in pain as Adrian started fiddling with the bandages on his right leg. "He didn't wrap it evenly," the detective pointed out. He turned to Pam and asked, "How's it coming with that release order?"

"They told me the same thing Lieutenant Colton did," Pam shook her head, "They need positive proof Cathy didn't do it before they can sign anything. I'm sorry, but I'm doing the best I can with what we've got."

"I think her ex probably has proof somewhere, but without a search warrant, we can't look anywhere it might be," Adrian realized, "Of course, he won't betray Caucasian Provinces anyway; he knows he's a dead man if he does."

"And now that Ralph here can't go anywhere, we can't use the suit anymore," Maxwell lamented, "If we..."

He abruptly trailed off and turned toward Adrian with a sly look. "What?" Adrian asked innocently.

* * *

"I feel so humiliated," the detective mumbled later from behind the closed door of the bathroom of Ambrose's room back at the hotel. 

"Trust me, Monk, you won't regret it in the end," Maxwell told him.

"I'm still not sure this is really a good idea, Bill," Pam said to him, "If Ralph still doesn't know how to work the suit right, wouldn't giving it to Mr. Monk be like lighting...?"

"Counselor, desperate times call for desperate measures," the FBI man said firmly. He turned to Ambrose, seated on the bed. "I trust you're not going to say anything about this?"

"Who would believe me if I did?" Ambrose shrugged (Adrian had told Ralph's associates that Ambrose had seen Ralph put the suit on over the phone, and thus they'd agreed to bring him on board), "The police don't respond to my calls anymore anyway."

The bathroom door slowly swung open. Adrian very slowly stepped out, now clad in Ralph's suit. It was about a size and a half too big for him. Ambrose couldn't help laughing softly. "I really don't find this the least bit amusing, Ambrose," Adrian told him sternly.

"Can't help it," Ambrose chuckled, "You just look so...I mean...if you'd shown up like that at cousin Albert's Halloween party when we were ten, we never would have heard the end of it."

"How would you know? You never went to that one," Adrian fiddled with the suit's cape, "Oh boy, I can see why Ralph hates this so much; it is embarassing to wear it."

"OK Monk, here's the scenario," Maxwell told him, "You head on over to Independence Hall and follow this Mike guy to his place. Then you make yourself invisible, go inside wherever his place is, and find the evidence we need to convince that popsicle stick. Keep me informed with this," he handed Adrian a small radio, which Adrian scrubbed down with the nearest wipe, "Now the operation of this suit is fairly simple once you get used to it. To make yourself invisible, just close your eyes and push mentally as hard as you can. Push twice when you want to be visible again. If he shoots at you, put your arms up like this..." he demonstrated the correct posture, "...and that should deflect any bullets. To holograph in on something, press it against your head and concentrate as hard as you can until something appears. If you want to heat something up real good to break it in, just rub your hands together until you've got a significant heat, then aim it at your target. You should have enough strength with the jammies on to lift anything you may need to. Any questions?"

"Yes, one, one minor question," Adrian raised his hand, "Could you repeat everything you said after, 'The operation of this suit is fairly simple once you get used to it?'"

There came a knock at the door before Maxwell could answer. Adrian hustled into the bathroom as fast as he could and pushed the door shut. "Hey Miss Davidson, you in there?" came Tony's voice, "You comin' down for the show?"

"Uh, yes, Tony, uh, we, we just have to take care of a few things in here," Pam said quickly, "We'll, uh, be down in a minute or two."

"Detective M and his brother comin' too?"

"The lounge is in this building, isn't it?" Ambrose spoke up, "Of course I can make it. Adrian isn't, uh, in right now, he's, he's working on who had your teacher run over."

"Well when he gets in tell him we're hopin' he can join us on stage," Tony said, "We've got a new song just for him."

Adrian heard the boy's footsteps recede away. "On stage?" he asked, sticking his head out the door, "Is he crazy?"

"Of course he is, Monk," Maxwell snorted, "He's Anthony C. Vilicana; crazy's his middle name."

"I'm not going down there like this!" Adrian gestured at the suit, "Even if things are in a pinch. Could you image coming out in public with this thing on?"

Maxwell ignored this and slid the window open. "Now in order to fly, Monk, take three steps and jump," he said.

"I'm,...I'd rather not...I can't fly," Adrian shook his head.

"Monk, you've got the suit on, you are not going to die if you crash," Maxwell sounded frustrated, "Now come on, the president and the world are counting on us."

He gestured impatiently at the window. Adrian took a few hesitant steps toward it and stopped. "You know, why does it have to be three steps?" he asked nervously, "They should know not to use odd numbers for..."

"Oh for crying out loud!" Maxwell pushed the detective toward the window. Adrian tumbled over the ledge and fell screaming at the top of his lungs toward the sidewalk. He impacted with it so hard that his head embedded several inches into the pavement. Pulling himself out, he raised a clenched fist toward the open window. "Are you insane!" he shouted up.

"You'll get used to it, Monk," Maxwell called down, "The clock's ticking here."

"You all right?" Ambrose's head appeared in the window as well.

"Fine, fine, except my pride is broken beyond repair," his brother told him. Luckily Maxwell had been right about the suit's strength functions, for he felt no pain even though he'd fallen three stories into hard cement. He became aware that passerbys were gawking at him, for which he couldn't blame them at all. He hastily shuffled into the nearest alley. "Now what am I supposed to do?" he whispered into the radio.

"You heard me, just fly toward Independence Hall and find this Mike guy," Maxwell instructed him.

"I have told you before: I...AM...NOT...FLYING!!" Adrian said firmly.

"Hey pal, nice suit, who shot the couch?" slurred a bum lying nearby. Adrian flattened himself against the wall and fiddled with the cape, which just didn't seem to want to get nice and straight for him. "Remind me how that invisibility function works again?" he had to know.

"I said push with your mind; God almighty Monk, I thought we went over this scenario!"

"Well Bill, this is a little overwhelming for him," came Pam's voice from the room, "You can't expect him to take it in all at once."

"I'll, I'll give it a try," Adrian closed his eyes and tried imagining that he was invisible. The only thing this seemed to accomplish, though, was that it set off every car alarm up and down Market Street. "Not working!" he hissed into the radio, "I suggest we go back to the desert first and find that instruction manual!"

"Try harder!" Maxwell hissed back. Adrian shrugged and concentrated more. He heard a loud pop, and when he looked down, he was no longer there. He jumped a little in surprise. "Got it," he remarked, "Let's just hope I can get back to normal when all's said and done."

He trudged up the street toward Independence Hall. The last crowds of the night were starting to thin out and go home as he reached it. Adrian noticed Mike leading a group out the front door. The crooked tour guy sighed in relief once they'd left and went back inside. Adrian walked in after him. "I'm here," he whispered softly into the radio, "He's going into the back room...oh God, he's undressing!"

He turned away in revulsion, unable to look in the half-closed door at Mike. His gaze fell on some trash lying on the floor nearby. On a whim, he breathed a deep breath at the trash and found the suit had mangified its potential. He kept blowing until the trash was right over the nearest open can. He smiled as he stopped and it fell right into place. "Now I know what this is good for," he said softly, "Who needs to save the world when you can use it to clean things up?"

Something else caught his attention. He strolled over to a young boy standing by the door. "Uh, kid," he whispered at him, "Your shoelace is untied there."

"Who...who are you!?" the boy whipped around in terror at the sound of the disembodied voice.

"I'm Adri--God," Adrian realized the potential of the situation to convert another to his point of view, "Leaving, leaving your shoelaces untied, that's a cardinal sin. You have to tie them right, it's, it's in my code book. Would have made the Commandment list, but there had to be ten so it could be even. So tie it right, or I'll have to do some smiting...I'm sort of in a smiteful mood tonight and..."

"Monk, what the hell are you doing?" Maxwell snapped. The boy ran off screaming at the second voice coming out of the blue. "I almost had him there!" the detective shouted back.

"Monk, you're supposed to keep your eye on Mike!" the FBI agent shouted at him.

"He's leaving for the night," Adrian noticed Mike, now in street clothes, walking toward the parking lot.

"All right, do a quick holograph off his stuff, then follow," Maxwell instructed. Adrian walked into the dressing room and stared at Mike's colonial uniform hanging on a hook on the wall. "I, I can't really put anything against my head; what if it's not clean?" he protested, "He has been wearing it all day, you know."

"It's only for a few seconds, just till you get an image of something," Pam told him, "It's not detrimental, at least I don't think."

"And that's the best you can give me?" Adrian asked. He sighed and mumbled, "Ten seconds, that's it."

He took Mike's hat and placed it several inches above his head. "I think they mean you actually put it on," Ambrose spoke up.

Adrian growled but complied. He jumped again as an image slowly appeared directly in front of him like acid burning through glass. "I've got something," he announced slowly, "It's a portrait on a wall somewhere," he said, wretching in disgust at the sight of it, "Timothy McVeigh. I'm getting more. There's a safe of some kind behind it."

"And?"

"And the ten seconds are up," Adrian took the hat off and hung it back on the peg.

"It's probably wherever Mike's going," Maxwell realized, sounding disappointed Adrian wasn't going to pursue it further, "Is he still there?"

"He's pulling out into traffic," Adrian noticed Mike driving away.

"Listen to me Monk, you're going to have to fly after him; it's the only way," Maxwell instructed him.

"All right, if you won't lay off," Adrian sighed, "How many steps did you say it was again?"

"Three steps and jump, Monk, now come on, you can do it."

Adrian took a deep breath, took the requisite three steps, and leaped in the air...and fell flat on his face. "This is a highly flawed power!" he shouted into the radio.

"Come on Monk, stick to the scenario!" Maxwell told him.

"Is there any times you don't use the word 'scenario' in your sentences?" Adrian had to know. He saw Mike turn the corner. He would lose him if he didn't hurry. He concentrated as hard as he could, ran forward and jumped again...

And found himself hovering several feet off the ground. "Flying," he whispered to himself. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought it would be. "I'm flying! Ambrose, you won't believe it, I'm fly--!"

He had been so caught up in the thrill of the moment that he'd failed to watch where he was going and slammed into a traffic light. It flung him back into a building, where he impacted with such force that he cracked the facade. He spiraled into the bushes and brushed himself off. "Of course, there's still some bugs to work out, I guess," he said numbly.

He leaped back into the air and flew--at the lowest possible altitude so that his acrophobia didn't get too out of control--after Mike's car, which was now several blocks away. Abruptly he lost control again and crashed into a mailbox. "I think this suit was defective in the first place!" he complained, "You should send in a complaint to Super Space Suits 'R Us or wherever they got it from!"

"Come on Monk, time's...!"

"I know, I know, time's a wasting!" Adrian jumped airborne again. Mike was now turning onto Interstate 95 southbound. Adrian followed him at a fairly discreet distance for close to fifteen minutes, crashing three more times onto the highway surface in the process. Finally, Mike pulled up in front of a dilapidated row house in a trashy suburban neighborhood. "I'm out in Chester," Adrian announced over the radio, "He's going in...WHOA!!!"

He fell onto a fire hydrant, breaking it open and sending a plume of water gushing skyward. Fortunately Mike had already gone inside and apparently hadn't heard this very noticeable disturbance. Adrian shook himself off, tugged the cape straight again, and walked up to the door Mike had slipped through. It was unlocked. He was immediately repulsed to hear the sounds of lovemaking coming from the bedroom. "I, I can't go in there, he's in the middle of..." he started to say into the radio, "Wait, I see the picture I saw in the image."

McVeigh's sick image smiled darkly at him from the far wall. Adrian tiptoed across the room, turning away so he didn't see Mike having intercourse with a trashy-looking woman, and pushed the picture aside. "A safe," he whispered to Maxwell, "I'll go see what he's got inside."

He gave the handle a tug. It broke off in his hand, along with half the internal gears. Adrian paused for a moment in case Mike had heard anything, but there was no sign he had. The detective pushed the safe door open. "Coins," he announced softly, "From the Mint; I can see a Mint Mark on them. And...a picture of him and Cathy," he frowned at it, "Now why would he keep that with him if the two of them had a bitter divorce?"

"Could have been part of how he did it," Ambrose suggested, "Do you see anything of note in the picture?"

Adrian's attention was distracted before he could do this. "The blind on the window, one piece is crooked," he whispered, "I, I have to fix it."

"Monk, please, concentrate on the task at hand for once in your life!" Maxwell barked at the top of his lungs.

"Shhhhh!" Adrian hissed into the radio, "He'll hear you!"

He turned back to the safe. "There's something else in here," he said, "A couple of lead-lined vials of what looks like reddish liquid of some kind. I need...I need..."

He couldn't hold it in any longer. He turned toward the window to fix the errant blind...

But his foot caught off a table as he turned, sending it crashing to the floor. Several glass items shattered loudly. Seconds later the lights flew on. Mike ran into the hall, a shotgun in hand. "Who's there!?" he roared, brandishing it wildly.

"Uh, it's, it's me, God," Adrian decided to try his earlier ploy, "I have seen your crimes, Mike, I know you set Cathy up for Bert Nyquist's murder. Now, I want you to go to the police and admit everything to..."

Mike let out a blast from his shotgun that Adrian just managed to avoid. "You can't hit me, Mike," he said with an air of superiority, "I could be anywhere. I could be over here..." he ran over to the wall, "...or over here..." he rushed to the door, "...or even over..."

"You're right there," Mike pointed directly at him. Adrian looked very slowly down to see he had suddenly become visible again. "OOOOhhh boy," he said slowly, "Now I KNOW this thing's defective!"

"And I know you're a dead man!" Mike aimed right at him.

The door burst in. Adrian spun to see Karponov standing there, his robotic hand clicking ominously. "Put it down, Rutherford," the Russian superman told him, "Mr. Monk is all mine."

"Actually, I'd, I'd prefer to take on Mike first," Adrian gulped, backing away.

"Monk, what's going on?" Maxwell's voice asked over the radio. Red beams of energy shot out of Karponov's eyes, dissintegrating the radio in Adrian's hands. "And now, Comrade Monk," Karponov seized his shoulder with his good arm, "You learn the real powers of this suit."


	11. Chapter 11

"All right," Adrian pushed Karponov away and pointed a finger at him, "You, you stay right where you are, or I'll melt you with...I'll melt you with...this suit's Super Destructo Death Lasers."

Karponov laughed. "You imbecile," he chided the detective, "Your suit doesn't have that capacity."

"What's going on?" Mike's "date" hesitantly walked into the hall, conspicuously holding the blankets close around her. She shrieked at the sight of Karponov and turned for the door. The Russian leaped toward her before anyone else could react and seized her by the neck with his mechanical arm. Adrian turned away as a horrific crunching sound echoed around the house. "What the hell are you doing, Vasily!?" Mike demanded, enraged, "I didn't ask you to kill her, damn it!"

"No witnesses!" Karponov barked, "We've come too far for her to tell police. And you, you moron, leading Monk right to us here! I ought to do the same to you, you...!"

"There he goes!" Mike shouted. Adrian had been sneaking towards the back door, the contents of Mike's safe in his hands. Suddenly he felt a blast of energy knock his off his feet. He tumbled to the floor, the objects in his hands flying everywhere. The lid flew off one of the vials of red liquid in midair. A tiny drop of the chemical made contact with one of the pennies...

And the next thing Adrian knew, a tremendous explosion had not only blown the roof off the house but completely disintegrated it. He looked up to see a very visible shockwave rippling across the sky...

Right toward a plane that could be seen overhead. There was a thumping sound as the two connected, and flames were visible on the plane as it lurched downwards. "Oh great!" the detective groaned. He hated flying that far up, but he couldn't just let it crash and a hundred or so people die. "Three steps forward," he whispered as he hastily picked up the evidence and jumped into the air. He squinted his eyes as far shut as he could and concentrated his gaze on the plane itself, trying not to look down. Unfortunately he overshot the plane. He slammed on the brakes in midair and dared to look downwards. Before he had to look away in fear, he saw the plane was spiraling towards a heavily populated area. Philadelphia International Airport glowed in the night about five miles to the north. If he could just get it to the runway in time...

He dove after it, aiming for the exact center of the underbelly. With enough bursts of speed, he caught up to it and positioned himself underneath it. He placed his arms on the fuselage and pushed upwards until he righted it. He was amazed how much strength the suit gave him. He flew towards the lights of the airport, straining heavily under the weight of the plane...

When Karponov rocketed out of nowhere and slammed right into him from the side. Adrian was jarred away from the plane with a visible shudder. "I think not," the Russian sneered, firing more disintegrater blasts from his eyes. Adrian narrowly avoided them. "Come on, don't you have a shred of humanity!?" he pleaded, dodging several more blasts.

"Better a thousand innocents die than one spy get away!" Karponov chided him darkly, "That was the NKVD's motto during the Purges, as you may recall. It is up to people like me to bring this mantra back to a public that no longer cares to heed it! Now give me what you have!"

Adrian had a feeling he could not best Karponov in hand-to-hand (sort of) combat. He dove towards the ground after the plane at speeds he'd rather not have attempted under normal circumstances after the plane. He managed to grab onto the tail and pull it out of its tailspin just a few hundred feet above the ground. He flew as hard as he could towards the airport, praying the burning engines would not explode before he got it there.

There was a strong rush of air behind him. Karponov was trailing him and gaining fast. Adrian strained with all his might to stay ahead of his foe. The main runway was just ahead of him. He pulled open the wheel wells with a free hand and yanked the wheels down. He touched down hard on the runway and dug his feet in as hard as he could to brake the plane to a stop. It did so in less than fifty feet, where luckily fire crews were waiting for it. Adrian let go and rolled down the runway like a bowling ball. He breathed heavily when he finally came to a stop. He'd done it.

Unfortunately, Karponov landed right on top of him at that moment and picked him up over his head. The Russian pile-drove the detective's head into the concrete. "Compassion is a weakness!" he snarled, "And you have given into it and sacrificed any advantage you might have had over me."

"What advantage?" Adrian numbly mumbled as his foe pulled him back out and hurled him like a rag doll into a fuel truck parked nearby. Adrian slumped to the ground from the rough impact, then frantically scrambled away as Karponov fired blasts at the truck, exploding it in a humoungous fireball. The detective felt himself burning up. He rolled desperately around to extinguish the flames. "Now look what you made me do!" he complained, "I had to lie down on a dirty, oil-ridden...!!"

Seeing Karponov lunging towards him, he ran away as fast as he could, which due to the suit was so fast that the buildings flew past him in a blur. Unfortunately, one appeared directly in front of him, and he crashed hard into into it before he could stop, leaving a huge hole in the wall. Karponov picked him up again and placed his hand over Adrian's heart again, once more giving the detective the horrible sensation of a heart attack. "Now give me the evidence!" the Russian demanded, reaching for the picture sticking out of Adrian's sleeve.

Thinking quickly, Adrian pulled Karponov's hand off his chest and placed it over his enemy's. The Russian cried out loud and stumbled writhing to the ground. Adrian knew he didn't have much time. He leaped back into the air and soared erratically across the sky towards the city. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It looked like the spaceship, landing over the hospital. The tractor beam flashed for a second and faded, and the ship flew back up into the sky. Seconds later from what the detective saw, it returned and flashed the beam again before vanishing once more. "Amazing," he reasoned, "Ralph has a better health care system than..."

He was cut off as he slammed into one of the towers on the Walt Whitman Bridge and plummeted into the Delaware below. "Of course, he should have bothered to hold on to that manual for me!" he groaned, seizing hold of the tower's footing and dragging himself back out of the river. He wrung the cape dry and fiddled with it yet again to try and get the crazy thing perfectly straight before leaping back into the air. He had no idea what the evidence he had meant, but he hoped Maxwell could shed some light on it for him...and call out the National Guard to get Karponov. He weaved through the air as low as possible, heading back towards the hotel.

* * *

"...where it goes from, nobody knows, and that's the everlasting mystery of love," Rhonda crooned on the stage of the hotel lounge as L.A. Freeway played backup for her. In the audience, Natalie turned to Dr. Kroger. "Isn't this just a wonderful song?" she asked him with a smile. 

"I certainly find it appealing," Dr. Kroger nodded. The psychiatrist glanced worriedly at his watch. "What is taking Adrian so long?" he mused.

"Well, you know us, Doctor, our cases are very involving," Maxwell said, but he looked worried too.

"So involving that it drags right over other people's rightful jurisdictions," Stottlemeyer mumbled.

"All right Captain, I've put up with your insults of the FBI long enough," Maxwell growled at him, not caring about the other people in the audience hissing at him to quiet down, "It is only people like the brave men and women of the FBI that make sure that local guys like you don't have to worry about big threats like...!"

"Bill, relax," Ralph walked into sight, completely healed. "You're back!?" Natalie was amazed, "They said you were hurt pretty bad."

"It, uh, wasn't quite as bad as it looked," the teacher said quickly, "So I got released early."

"Wasn't as bad as it looked?" Sharona was very puzzled, "But from what I saw you had at least eight broken bones and four fractures!"

"Well, it, um, turned out they weren't really fractures, just very, uh, strong bruises," Ralph told the nurse, "Where's Adrian?"

"Uh, out still," Ambrose said. He added with forced emphasis, "Just a little too long, we're thinking."

Ralph glanced at his wife and partner, who gave him worried expressions. "Well, I'm sure he'll be in soon," he said quickly, "But anyway, you guys can tell Kevin I'm all right."

"Oh he's right here in fact, you can..." Natalie jumped when she turned to her left. For the seat Kevin had been glumly occupying just a few minutes ago was empty. "Where'd he run off to!?" she exclaimed, glancing around.

"He was kind of upset since you were run over, Mr. Hinkley," Ambrose added, "It might be some kind of guilt streak."

"And nobody saw him leave!?" Ralph looked frantic now. He rushed over to a bellboy by the door. "Did you see a young boy walk out of here!?" he asked him breathlessly.

"The one in tears?" the bellboy inquired, "He ran out the front door. Poor guy, I thought..."

Ralph peeled towards the front door shouting "KEVIN!!!" at the top of his lungs. "He'd better hurry too," Ambrose remarked solemnly, "This is after all the fifth biggest city in the country; depending on when exactly he ran off, he could be several blocks away by now. I hope..."

"Did you hear something?" Jack held up his hand, "I thought I heard someone whisper, 'Agent Maxwell.'"

"Uh, probably just your imagination," Maxwell said quickly, ignoring the puzzled and somewhat suspicious glances Adrian's party was giving him, "I'd, I'd better go help Ralph look for his kid."

He jumped up and ran off. "Something's not right here," Stottlemeyer mumbled softly once he was gone, "He's hiding something."

"Actually, maybe he and Hinkley are in on the robbery," Disher proposed.

"Ralph would never steal anything!" Pam protested, "He's doing all he can to help; you can ask Mr. Monk when he comes in...if he comes in..."

Meanwhile, Maxwell leaned up against the back wall near the door. "You here, Monk?" he whispered as low as he could.

"No, over here, sort of," came Adrian's voice from the bar. The FBI agent walked over and stumbled to the ground as he ran into an invisible Adrian. "Monk, watch where you're going!?" he complained, "We were worried sick about you."

"Karponov gave me a run for my money," the detective explained, "I found these in Mike's place."

He handed Maxwell the evidence. "This stuff," he gestured at the vials, "I don't think it's from our known periodic table. But when it comes in contact with copper, it's got explosive qualities like you can't believe. That's why they needed to steal all the coins, so they could get an explosive device big enough to wipe out all life on the planet. We've got to call Lieutenant Colton and the National Guard and get..."

He heard a gasping noise from behind him. He turned to see the hotel's concierge staring in horror towards him. Adrian looked very slowly down to see he had abruptly become visible again, and realized how wearing the suit made him look. "No, no," he stammered quickly, "It's...It's not what..."

The concierge rushed behind the bar and dialed the phone there. "LaSalle Medical Center!?" he shouted desperately into the receiver, "Send a psychiatric unit to the Best Western on Fourth Street as soon as you can; I've got a real nutcase here!"

"I'm...I'm..." Adrian stumbled towards him, prompting the man to run off in a panic. "Stupid suit!" the detective plucked at it in disgust, "The warranty doesn't cover any..."

He realized with a sickening twist in his stomach that spotlights from the stage were being trained on him, and that everyone in the room had gone abruptly silent. He gulped nervously, feeling every eye in the room burning into him. "Hey, there's our guy for the night, Detective Adrian Monk," came Tony's voice from the stage, "And wouldn't you know it, the man's making a fashion statement for once in his life. Hey Monk, say a few words for us."

A microphone cartwheeled through the air towards Adrian, landing with a thud on his toes. He weakly picked it up, trying to ignore the laughter at the suit many audience members were giving him. "I...I...I...I..." he whimpered weakly, "Here...for your pleasure, the band L.A. Freeway will sing...will sing...that one where he's loving that woman all night long."

Wild laughter ripped through the lounge. His own party was staring at him in wild-eyed shock (except for Ambrose, who had his face in his hands). "Ain't he somethin' special?" Tony chuckled, "Anyway, we've got a special tune for Detective M here, for your listening pleasure folks, one that sums up everything about him. Hit it."

The rest of the band struck up the tune in question. Adrian actually like it a bit--it might actually make a good theme for the show, he reasoned--but any further thought on this was lost as his group approached him. "Adrian, what are you doing?" his father demanded.

"I, uh, well, um..." he thought frantically for a reasonable answer.

"Are you really this intent on proving that flying man fantasy dream you had!?" Natalie asked, gesturing at the suit, "It's not real, Mr. Monk, it's was just a dream. Now what's going on here!?"

"Uh, well, uh, it's, it's a really, really, really, really long story..." Adrian stammered.

"And we're going to hear all of it. Right now," she folded her arms firmly across her chest and stared right in his eyes. Adrian sighed, seeing no rational way out of it. "Well, um, Natalie, uh, a couple of years ago, Ralph Hinkley was on a, uh, field trip to the desert," he began slowly, "And he, um, sort of, well, ran into a group of aliens, and, uh, they, um..."

"The REAL story, Mr. Monk!" she snapped.

"This IS the real story!" he shouted back, "I know, I didn't believe a word of it either when he told me, but I can tell you it's all real, the whole thing is real! He can fly, he has super powers, and there's another guy out there with a more powerful suit than this who's going to kill all of us and the whole world if we don't do something!"

Everyone stared at him with their jaws hanging wide open. "Adrian, you need help," Sharona mumbled softly, "Serious, serious help."

"It's true, really," Maxwell protested, looking embarassed himself, "Ralph has an alien super suit, and we've saved the world a couple of times with it."

"OK, you're clearly crazier than he is," Stottlemeyer told him, not believing a word of it, "I don't know how a lunatic like you got into the Federal Bunch of Idiots, but the sooner you get discharged, the better. First chance I get, I'm calling the head FBI office and tell them you need to get off the streets."

"It is the truth, Captain, I swear," Adrian pleaded with him, "If you'll just..."

"There he is!" the concierge shouted from across the lounge. A half dozen or so young men in white suits ran in. "Oh my!" the apparent leader of the squad gasped at the sight of Adrian, "He wasn't kidding; this guy is a certified nut!"

He grabbed Adrian by the arm. "Come on quiet, pal, and don't cause any trouble," he told him, "We'll get you help."

"I'm, I'm not insane," Adrian protested as he was dragged toward the door, "This, this isn't my suit, I can swear to it! RALPH!!!"

"Poor Monk," the Stottlemeyer shook his head as the detective was towed out of sight, "I had a feeling this day would come when he'd collapse like this." He turned to Dr. Kroger. "Do you think it's because we overworked him or something."

"I have no idea, captain," the psychiatrist was as puzzled as the rest of them, "I have no idea."


	12. Chapter 12

Adrian paced around the room he'd been given at the psychiatric hospital nervously. In the last twelve hours, he'd been subjected to a whole battery of tests by the staff to determine his sanity, involving everything short of dreaded needles. He couldn't take much more of it. But at least he was out of the ridiculous suit. From his window he could see military planes flying towards the airport, a sure sign the president would be arriving soon. If only he'd known where, he could have given a better warning--if he ever got out.

The door swung open. "You've got guests, Mr. Monk," an orderly announced. Sharona was the first one inside. Adrian noted his father hanging behind just beyond the door frame. "I'm not insane, Sharona, you know that," the detective begged, "The world is in grave danger if I don't get out of here. Tell me you believe me."

"I do believe that you're not insane, Adrian," she told him, "Dr. Kroger's talking things over with the staff downstairs right now; if you pass the last test, they'll let you go and you can join us at the ballpark for the game tonight."

"Did Maxwell get the evidence to the police?" he asked breathlessly, "Did they get Karponov?"

"Adrian, as a registered nurse with a lot of experience in the field, I'm telling you to just forget about Maxwell and Hinkley for the rest of the night," Sharona told him firmly, "Remind yourself that going with them was what got you into this mess in the first place."

"But they...we need..."

"Adrian, you asked if you could trust me, now can I trust you?" she gave him an iron gaze, "Because I want you to be there with us tonight at the ballpark, I've missed you over the week so far."

"YOU'VE missed ME?" he frowned deeply, "That doesn't sound right."

"Well it IS right," told him, her expression more sympathtic, even longing, "I've had fun on my own on this trip, but I really want to do at least one thing with you before we have to go home in a few days. What I'm saying is, you're the most irritating man in the world to work for, Adrian, but really you're also one of my...also one of my best friends."

"You really mean that?"

"Don't make me say it again, Adrian, it's nauseating enough to say the first time around," she said sternly, "I'd better get back to Dr. Kroger to make the arrangements. You can have a word with your father in the meantime."

She strolled hastily out the door. Jack entered, looking quite grim. "I trust they've been treating you well here?" he asked his son.

"This is not Dr. Frank N. Furter's lab, Dad, "Adrian protested, "I am perfectly sane, you know."

"Maybe, but I still have to say that I'm very disappointed in you," Jack shook his head, "Running off all the time with those FBI nuts, and now look at you, the latest cuckoo in the nuthouse. And worse, you've got Ambrose blathering on about that flying man nonsense as well."

"I am not insane, Dad," Adrian felt his blood pressure rising, "The world is in trouble."

"That's not the point, Adrian," his father scolded him, "The point is you let me down. I wanted to have a nice fun week with you and you haven't been around for it at all."

"Well welcome to the club, Jack!" Adrian founded himself shouting, "Now you know what I went through for almost forty years after you drove off for Chinese food and had that crack addict of a son you used to speak so fondly about not so long ago!"

"Adrian, please, you're being irrational, that's...!"

"That's what? That's what makes you so afraid of me, that I'm an irrational freak of nature!!??" the detective bellowed, "Well this irrational freak of nature you ran away from when he was eight says the world's in danger, and again, the prime thing on your mind is how low your ego's fallen! What do you have to say that, huh Jack? What do you have to say to that!?"

Jack had nothing to say to that; he slumped forward and started sobbing. Guilt swept Adrian. "No, Dad, wait, don't, I didn't...!" he pleaded to no avail as his father trudged out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Adrian trudged over the bed and pulled its sheets perfectly straight before laying down on it. "I killed it," he moaned in misery to himself, "Took me almost forty years to get the spark between us again, and I kill it in one fell swoop!"

"It's not the end, Adrian," Trudy had arrived again to get him through the latest dark stretch, "You said it was the end of it when we were married, and look, the two of you are on vacation together."

"What can I say to him now!?" Adrian threw up his hands in frustration, "He thinks I'm a lunatic and wonders why he even bothered to invite me. No way past that as far as I can see."

He rose up and leaned his head against the wall he'd thoroughly cleaned twice after he'd been brought in. "Like I told Ralph, what is parenting really worth?" he mumbled to his wife's spirit, "You'll always fail in the end. Besides, I know I'd be a terrible father anyway. They'd grow up with name calling and bullying galore. Then they cross the threshhold of revolution, when they stop loving you completely and if they do stay do it only to antagonize you; I'm seen it with Dr. Kroger's son personally. I couldn't have gone through that at all, being hated by my child, if I ever could have a child."

"Some of us just aren't meant to raise children, Adrian," she put a vaporeal arm around him, "I think you're doing quite well at it right now, though, anyway. As far as your assistants' children go, you're basically their second father already for both of them. I know; I've been watching the whole time."

"Is that 24/7 the whole time?" he had to know.

"Yes," she nodded, "You'll get up again with your father too, Adrian. Once he cools down, he'll remember that he's been determined throughout this whole trip to make his mark on the son that means the most to him..."

"Wait," Adrian's heart leaped, "You actually heard him say I was his favorite!?"

"Clear as a bell and saw him say it picture perfect too."

"Picture perfect!?" Adrian sprung upright with a look of triumph on his face. "Oh, I solved the whole case! We're going to blow that nightmare Karponov and his Caucasian Provinces whackballs clean into solitary confinement. I"ve...Trudy?"

She was starting to fade away. "Your father needs me now too, Adrian," she told him.

"Tell him I'm sorry I said it please," Adrian begged her. No sooner had his wife fully devaporized from sight than the door to the room opened. "Doctor, thank God you're here, call the police, I've solved the case," he proclaimed.

"Good for you, Monk," the doctor turned towards him, and Adrian froze when he saw it was Bunker. He didn't have time to react before the militant bashed him over the head with a lead pipe and everything went black.

* * *

The rest of Adrian's group was waiting outside the hospital when the detective's visitors strolled out. "How's he doing?" Natalie asked. 

"He seems to be normal, but for whatever reason, he's sticking to that flying man story," Dr. Kroger said, shaking his head, "But I think he'll be cleared. Where are you going?"

Jack was trudging away with his head hung low. "Back to the hotel," he announced glumly, "The truth is, Doc, I AM a failure after all."

"What did he say?"

"What does it matter?" the trucker moaned, "Nothing matters any more."

Everyone was silent as he walked up the block. There came footsteps from the other direction. "Is Monk still in there?" Maxwell asked them as he walked up.

"Oh no you don't," Stottlemeyer stepped into the federal agent's path and put his hands on his hips, "You're not coming anywhere near Monk, buster. Not after whatever you did to him to make him loopy."

"I just want to know if he's all right."

"The only thing you're going to do is turn right around and walk away, pal," the captain jerked a finger back up the block.

"All right, all right, since you're such a hard case, cap, but I think some of you might be interested in knowing," he glanced at Disher, "that thanks to Monk's fine perseverance in getting evidence, Miss Trumbull will be released shortly by the authorities, and we'll be able to get the drop on who framed her. The Counselor's over at the courthouse now making the final arrangments."

"Good, good," the lieutenant's expression brightened, "I knew Monk could do it."

There was a hitching sound nearby. A doctor was pushing a patient on a gurney covered by a sheet towards the back of a nearby ambulance. "You need a hand there?" Sharona proposed, walking over, "I am a registered nurse and..."

"NO!" the gravel-voiced doctor shoved her away, "This one's all mine!"

He slammed the ambulance doors shut. "He wasn't very friendly at all," the nurse mused as it pulled away, "I'll be he gets a load of complaints from his patients."

"Anyway," Stottlemeyer glanced at his watch, "We'd better get ready to go to the game, it starts in about two hours. And you," he pointed at Maxwell, "Hit the road and don't bother Monk."

"Fine, fine, Mr. Pushy," Maxwell grumbled, "You have a nice evening too, cap."

He turned to walk off. "Before you go, Mr. Maxwell," Julie ran up to him, looking concerned, "Did Mr. Hinkley find his son yet?"

"Haven't heard from him all day, kid," the federal agent shook his head, "Which means he's still out there looking for him. So no. But I wouldn't worry, Ralph'll get him back yet. Have a nice day."

He walked off, leaving her looking not all that relieced at all. "Are you all right?" Natalie put a concerned arm around her daughter.

"I just feel sort of guilty for him running off," she admitted, "I talked with him at the zoo and told him he needed to treat Mr. Hinkley better; after what happened, I guess it was all too much for him and all, and I...I..."

"Honey, there's nothing to be upset about," Natalie gave her a kiss, "You were doing the right thing with him. I agree with you, he needed to be little more respectufl to his father. And I think when they do find him, he'll have learned that lesson. And they will find him, trust me on it. Now just put it out of your mind. Everything's going to be great for everybody tonight."

Had the two of them bothered to look up the street before they walked away, however, they would have noticed Maxwell being yanked into an alley by an ominous mechanical arm.

* * *

Adrian slowly came to. He realized that he was chained to someone else, and that they were moving. "Adrian, are you all right?" came Ralph's voice from directly behind him. 

"Oh just fine, never better," Adrian groaned, "I'm used to being knocked out by now. You?"

"No sign of Kevin," Ralph mumbled dismally, "I searched the whole city for ten hours without a meal. Then they dragged me into an alley and knocked me out, and here I am with you."

"Well, well, rise and shine," came Bunker's voice from behind them. Now back in his uniform, the militant leader strolled out from a doorway, "Nice to see the two people I dislike the most together and subjugated."

"Where are we?" Adrian demanded.

"On the Schuylkill River just north of Norristown," Bunker informed them, "And in a few minutes, you're going to get a closer and permanent look at the river. You two have been a thorn in our side for way too long."

"The FBI knows everything," Ralph told him in defiance.

"Mr. Maxwell's no threat," the militant leader retorted, "In fact he's already under wraps. Our plan will proceed as planned, and this government will pay the price for its double-dealing politics with the Jews and Arabs, both of whom are thieving backstabbers undeserving of our respect as Americans."

"You know, it's narrow-minded thinking like that that makes the world so at odds with itself today," the teacher protested, "Put yourself in their places; many of them live in abject poverty and have no possibility of advancement under their current systems. If someone comes to you in that situation with promises of glory and power beyond your imagination, of course you'd be tempted. If no one's willing to see things from the other side's point of view, we'll never get..."

"Enough," Bunker slapped him across the face, "It's liberal losers like you who held this country back in the first place after Korea. No matter. Our bombs are going off in half an hour, and you can't stop us."

"I know how you all did it," Adrian spoke up, "You needed a fall person for your crimes. Mike was still upset with Cathy, so he suggested her to you. Karponov did his part; he hypnotized Bert Nyquist to steal the coins from the Mint first, then tell her she was fired so the authorities would think she had probable cause. But you didn't have enough metal to complete your bombs, so you had to stage the robbery. For that Mike needed positive proof of her involvement. That photograph of the two of them together had everything you needed; her fingerprints were on it, and her Mint ID card was visible in her pocket in the photo. You memorized her code from it so you could deactivate the alarm systems, and you pressed the photo against the buttons afterwards to put her prints on them."

"Very clever Monk," Bunker snorted, "Unfortunately no one's going to know it. Miss Trumbull's going to meet an unfortunate accident in a few minutes when she leaves the police station. And Mike's not going to say a word either, are you Mike?"

Another soldier marched in from the control house dragging a handcuffed Mike behind him. "What are you doing, Colonel!?" the man pleaded desperately.

"You're too much of a liability now," Bunker told him, "We're going to have to deal with you too. And you too, kid."

Karponov now appeared as well. In his good hand he held the suit. And in his metallic one...

"Kevin!" Ralph gasped, "Have they hurt you!?"

Kevin could only whimper softly in terror. Fortunately, Adrian noted, he didn't seem to have been physically harmed yet. "He's been nothing but a complete coward since Vasily here picked him up earlier today," Bunker stated, "Whines over anything and everything. He'd have no place under my command unless he toughens up. What do you think of this, kid?"

He drew his pistol and held it to Mike's head. Adrian shut his eyes as four shots rang out. Kevin screamed in fear. "That's what should happen to people who screw up like he did," the colonel continued, "And that's what's going to happen once we detonate. As for this suit, what do you say we put it in a nice safe place, Vasily, where Mr. Hinkley here can't get it even if he does survive his little swim?"

"Of course," Karponov lumbered into the control room and tossed the suit into a large safe. "There's a million and a half possible combinations," he told his prisoners mockingly as he locked it, "You couldn't crack it without that suit on, even if you weren't going to be dead. What futility life is, Mr. Hinkley," he advanced forward again and leaned menacingly over Ralph, "All the times you save the world, but you fall flat when you meet your superior, I. Was it really worth it getting the suit in the first place?"

Kevin glanced quizzically at his father. "They gave it to me, Kevin, the aliens," Ralph explained his expression a mixture of pain from past misses in his life and fury at Karponov for mistreating his child, "That's why I couldn't make it all those times, millions of lives were constantly at stake. But it hurt me more than you can imagine that I hurt you; it's bored away at my soul since the day I got it. I'm so sorry for everything, really I am."

"No Dad, I'm sorry," the boy cried in a broken voice, "I'm sorry. I didn't..."

"Enough tears," Bunker slapped the child hard. Ralph roared and aimed a kick at the man, but Bunker's adjutant seized his leg before it made impact and gave it a brutal twisting. "Drop them in now," his boss ordered him.

"You realize you'll never get the bomb anywhere near the president," Adrian tried to rationalize as they were dragged toward the edge of the boat, "Even if you did, you'd be shot dead in seconds."

"I'm not afraid of death," Bunker sneered, "I'm the reincarnated form of the head bodyguard of the warlord Osano, who three hundred years ago struck off the heads of forty-six fellow samurai before committing suicide."

"OOOOKKK," Adrian said slowly. He strained to look at Ralph and commented, "And they say I'M the lunatic?"

"Look at it this way, Monk, you're going to see your wretched wife again in a minute," the militant told him curtly. He turned to Karponov and told him, "Go take off to the site. Take the brat with you for insurance just in case these idiots somehow survive. Then kill him after we detonate."

"If, If we're going to die, could you at least tell us where you're planting the bomb?" Adrian tried one final approach at getting critical information.

"I'm not one of those idiots you see in the movies who's going to give a big incriminating monologue because the hero asks him to," Bunker called his bluff, "Dump them, Sergeant."

His adjutant kicked the men overboard into the river. Adrian could only think how right Bunker actually was despite the man's clear insanity as he and Ralph sank to the bottom. At least he would be with Trudy again in a minute, and his lonely suffering would finally be over...


	13. Chapter 13

Surprisingly, however, he felt the chains on him starting to slacken as they sank. He jerked around to see Ralph was slipping them off over their heads, albeit with much strain and effort. It took close to four critical minutes, but eventually he got them all off. The teacher seized the detective's arm once the last one slid off and kicked towards the surface. They broke through with a loud splash. "How'd...?" Adrian had to ask.

"I breathed in before they dropped us," Ralph explained, gasping heavily. "It left enough slack." He glanced both ways up the river. "Gone," he grumbled, noticing no sign of the boat, "There's no telling which way they went!"

"Actually, there is, they went that way," Adrian pointed downstream, "The water's rolling inwards, as if it had been pushed aside by a propellor blade and it's recompensating. And there were no other boats out here since I revived. Now just get me out of the water; I can't begin to imagine how many pollutants are in here!"

Ralph kicked hard after the remnants of the boat's wake instead. The detective sighed and hung on as tight as he could. "And the newspaper yesterday didn't say where the president would be," he said, holding his head high to avoid swallowing the water and whatever might be in it, "So essentially we're shooting in the dark as to where they're planting the bombs."

"It can't be any major event. It's seven o'clock now; he's got to be back in Washington by ten at the latest for the holiday special at Ford's Theater," Ralph gasped heavily with each stroke; clearly having almost been drowned had weakened him, "Not that that's the only think to worry about; we've got to make sure they don't hurt Cathy or Bill before it..."

"Over there," Adrian pointed to the right shore. A helicopter was taking off from behind the trees. Moments later, the detective spotted the boat moored at a private dock behind a bend in the river. "Head that way," he instructed Ralph, pointing.

It took all of Ralph's strength to carry them to the boat, a good several hundred yards away. He collapsed on the deck, completely fatigued. Adrian wrung his hopsital gown dry--he was just glad he hadn't been wearing a regular suit of his and ruined that--and hustled into the control room, stepping over Mike's body in the doorway. He examined the safe the suit was locked in and glanced around the room. "Nothing to break it open with," he noted.

"Well we've got to get it open," Ralph lamented, "Or we'll never get back to the city in time. Tell me you've got some idea what the combination might be?"

"Give me a minute, don't talk," Adrian closed his eyes. He tried to recreate in his mind the distinct clicking sounds the gears had made when Karponov had locked the safe. "Combination is 66-18-34," he proclaimed after about two minutes.

"You're absolutely sure?"

"As sure as I'm going to be," Adrian nodded, "You, you open it; no telling who's been touching the dial or what they might have."

Ralph stumbled over and spun the combination on the lick. "YES!!" he shouted in delight when this proved to be correct and the safe opened up, "It's no wonder you're the best!"

He snatched up the suit from inside and ran back outside with it. "Don't, please, not out there!" Adrian begged him, "It's so indecent!"

"Well I just thought you wouldn't want me changing right next to you, Adrian."

"Yes, exactly, good point," Adrian conceded. "What's this?" he gaze fell on several papers that were also in the safe. With no tweezers at hand, he was forced to grab them himself. They were schematics, with numbered boxes and large Xs marked in several locations. "Uh oh," he said slowly when he realized what it all meant, "Uh, Ralph, you're not going to like this, but I know where they're planting the bombs."

"Where?"

"Citizens Bank Park," Adrian looked horrified, "Where everyone was going tonight to see the game."

"I got the kids tickets for that game too," Ralph sounded equally horrified, "Oh my God, we've sent everyone to Ground Zero!"

* * *

"Nothing like a ballgame on the Fourth of July," Stottlemeyer was proclaiming at that very minute as Adrian's group, oblivious to the danger they were in, strolled through the entrance hall on the lower deck on the first base side of Citizens Bank Park and took in the sight before them. "Which seats are we again?" 

"Section 124, Row 9, Seats 14 through 24," Natalie consulted the tickets, "Too bad there's extra seats tonight."

She glanced at the others. Only six of them had been able to make it, for Disher had gone off to see Cathy out of jail, Jack had been too depressed from his argument with Adrian to bother wanting to make it, Ambrose was determined to stay with his father and cheer him up (not that he wanted to leave the hotel anyway), and of course Adrian was still at the hospital, the doctor having called the hotel to tell them he'd failed the last test and needed to stay overnight for more evaluation. Strangely, though, she'd heard some rather strange sounds in the background, such as a motor running, that you generally did not hear in a hospital. But she supposed it was part of some new experiment they must have been running or so.

They all took their seats. "Look who's here again," came a familiar voice from two rows back, "We just keep runnin' into you guys everywhere. You haven't seen Mr. H, have ya? He was supposed to be here."

"Uh, no, Tony, we haven't seen him lately," Natalie turned and told Ralph's students, "He hasn't come back yet?"

"No, but he did call this morning to say he still hadn't found his son yet," Rhonda shook her head, "Haven't heard from him since."

"Probably picked him up and put him in the nuthouse with Monk," Stottlemeyer chortled.

"Hey Mr. H is perfectly sane," Cyler protested, "He's a little out there, but he ain't no menace to society."

"You're pal Maxwell is, though, no question there," the captain said.

"Him yep," Tony nodded, "But Mr. H, he's a nice guy. Surprisin', though, that Detective M would go off on that red suit business too."

"What are you saying," Sharona frowned, "You've had past experiences with a flying man in a red suit too?"

"A couple of times the last few years it's been on the news that some anonymous flying guy might have helped to catch some big time crooks," Rodriguez explained, "Some times we like to imagine it's Mr. H, but of course, how it possibly be him?"

Adrian's associated exchanged glances. "Ladies and gentlemen," the PA announcer spoke up at that moment, "At this time we'd like you to please rise and give a hardy welcome on this the Fourth of July for the President of the United States."

The strains of "Hail to the Chief" echoed through the ballpark. The crowd reaction was admittedly lukewarm, but every stood up in support anyway. "As long as they don't throw anything at his box, he'll be just fine," Stottlemeyer stated. He glanced at his program. "Phils are sending up Struss?" he inquired out loud, "He's been flat lately; Max dropped him off his fantasy roster two months ago."

"Yeah, they'd be better off with Mr. H," Rhonda remarked, "You know, he did pitch in the majors a few years back; did pretty good too. We were all there."

"Is that so?" Dr. Kroger turned around, "Actually, now that you mention that, I remembered hearing about that special ace pitcher who came out of nowhere to win the pennant and then vanished. Troy always wondered where he got to."

"He decided teaching us was more important to him," Rodriguez explained, "But hey, he got his chance at the dream, and we get to say we know a major league player."

"I know Scott Gregorio," Benjy boasted, "I met him on one of Mr. Monk's cases; he told me I was a natural."

"He was right," Sharona rubbed her son's hair. "Mom, not in public, please!" he protested.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the singing of our National Anthem, to be performed by Sylvester Stallone," the PA announcer said.

"They hired him for it?" Julie made a pained expression, "How dumb can you get?"

"Could be worse; at least it ain't that guy with the bad hairdo who makes all the dumb sick jokes," Tony pointed out.

"Good point," the girl conceded, "Rob Schneider singing the anthem's just asking for people to throw things."

"Well, at any rate, first pitch should be in five minutes," Dr. Kroger checked his watch, "I have a feeling we're in for a very eventful night."

* * *

At that exact moment, Disher broke into a smile as he saw two familiar figures walking out of the police station. "Feeling better now?" he asked, taking Cathy's hand. 

"Much," she was smiling in relief as well, "I can't thank you and everyone else enough for believing me when no one else would. Is Detective Monk here; I want to thank him too."

"Uh, no, Monk's, Monk's actually in the hospital now," Disher admitted, "He had a strange, well, incident. But they say he'll be OK tomorrow or so. Care to catch a ballgame? Monk's ticket's open now that's not going to be able to make it."

"After three days behind bars, anything sounds good," she said.

"Taxi," Disher hailed down one that was cruising slowly nearby. "And thank you too," he confided in Pam, "You really are a great attorney."

"I do my best," she said modestly, "Tomorrow I'd like to help get Mr. Monk out of the hospital; I know there's much more to that than meets the eye."

Disher didn't quite understand the almost knowing look in her eyes. "Well, I thought something strange was going on there too," he remarked, "Monk would almost never wear something like that, so something strange has to be going on."

He opened the cab door for both the women...and was surprised when the taxi abruptly peeled back into traffic before he could get in. "Hey, hey, wait for me!" he shouted, running after it, "What do you think you're doing, pal!?"

Inside the cab, Pam seized hold of the door handle as they swerved wildly around a corner. "What are you doing!?" she echoed Disher.

The driver reached back and slammed the door shut. He trained a gun on the women, as did the balding man in the front passenger seat with him. "Just keep still and shut up, ladies," the driver warned, pressing the button to lock all the doors, "This will all be over with very soon."

* * *

"Are you almost done?" Adrian called around the corner of the boat's doorway, too worried to look around. 

"Almost," there was a stumbling sound as Ralph fell, "Unless of course you want to wear it."

"Oh no, no," Adrian said firmly, "Once was certainly enough for me."

"Once should probably have been enough for me as well," Ralph entered the wheel house, fully suited up, "Let me have that blueprint and see if I can get anything off it."

Adrian handed it to him. Ralph pressed it against his forehead. He gasped and jumped back. "I guess you've got something then?" Adrian inquired.

"Actually I'm getting four or five things at once," Ralph lowered the paper away, "That's never happened before. There must be a heck of a lot going on that needs our attention."

"Well, my advice is concentrate on getting whatever's the most important one," Adrian proposed, "Then we'll take the rest as they come."

He shook his head. "What a task," he mumbled out loud to himself, "Most cases we corner the guy, I tell the police how he did it, he goes off to jail with no qualms. Here we've got to fly fourteen miles in less than a half hour, to find several bombs in a stadium, then take out a maniac with superpowers and his army of powerful goons. It's not an arrest, it's a real world Disney movie!"

"I've got something," Ralph announced, holding the paper to his head again, "It's Bill. He's locked in some kind of coffin...oh my God, they buried him alive. He doesn't have long."

"Any telltale markings on where he is?" Adrian asked.

"I'm getting more," Ralph told him, "I see a freeway...must be the Blue Route, I see a sign for the St. David-Villanova exit. Come on, we haven't got a moment to lose."

"Actually I think I'll take the BUUUUUSSSS!!!" Adrian squinted his eyes shut as Ralph took hold of him and launched into the air. Even after having flown on his own, it was still too nerve-racking to go through. This was probably a good thing, for no more than a minute later they crashed back to earth on a hillside. "May I suggest doubling your efforts to look for that manual if we survive this?" the detective complained, "And when you do so to photocopy it several times so you have backups?"

Ralph said nothing and took off into the sky again. They soared over the hills of southeastern Pennsylvania staying parallel to Interstate 76. Ralph took a hard left at the junction with the Blue Route and dove low towards a rather large hill. They crashed again, this time into a pine tree with rather sharp needles. Adrian groaned and yanked the needles out of his hopsital gown. "I suppose we know exactly where we're looking for Mr. Maxwell?" he inquired. Then he noticed something. "Over there by that elm; the dirt's just been shoveled," he pointed.

"Stand clear," Ralph walked right over the spot and started rotating in circles, burrowing into the ground. Adrian jumped well clear indeed; the dirt that was flying everywhere was something he didn't need. There was the sound of metal smashing out of sight, and moments later Ralph sprang back up with a prostrate Maxwell. "Come on Bill, breathe!" he demanded.

Maxwell slowly came to. "What the hell took you so long Ralph?" he demanded slowly, "I almost suffocated down there. What's going on?"

"It's Citizens Bank Park, the president's there, they're going to detonate in about twenty minutes, maybe less," Adrian brought him up to speed, "They're also going to kill Cathy. And I've got to get back to the hotel and get a shower; we were in the Schuylkill a little too long for my tastes."

"I knew it," Maxwell grumbled, "Trust a crazed Ruskie to attack the president while watching the national pasttime. They always hit below the belt when..."

"Hang on, I'm getting something else," Ralph was holographing in on the blueprint again, "It's the hotel. A door's opening...it's your father, Adrian...he's doubling over in pain, like someone hit him...Karponov..."

"What!?" Adrian's eyes went wide. On a whim, he seized hold of Ralph arm, then jumped as what the teacher was seeing became visible to him as well. He could very faintly make out the outline of the Russian--who was probably invisible in the first place and it was only through their own suit's powers that they could make him out--thrashing his father good. Ambrose ran into sight. "What's going...?" he started to say, only to be picked up and tossed into the wall hard by Karponov. The Russian became wholly visible now. There was a flash of fire in his eyes, and the next thing Adrian saw, the bed was on fire. Karponov slammed the door shut and gestured his good arm at a desk in the hall, which slid over the door and blocked any exit for the men inside. Laughing he disappeared again. "Oh my God!" the detective gasped, "We've got to hurry, now!"

"Hang on, "Ralph scooped him up in one hand and Maxwell in the other and rocketed into the dusky sky as fast as he could. The combined weight of the two of them caused him to noticeably dip lower in the air (which was certainly OK with Adrian) and sway from side to side (which wasn't). They reached the Schuylkill River and followed it back towards the city, which was glowing in the growing night before them in the distance. In five minutes they'd managed to reach the western edge of Philadelphia. It was at this point that Ralph lost control and fell back to the ground, right in front of the Art Institute. The three of them rolled head over heels down the famous steps and came to a crashing stop against the Rocky statue at the base. Adrian stared in displeasure up at the boxer's grinning ediface. "I guess it should go, 'Not going to fly now.'" he mumbled at it.

Without a word, Ralph picked them back up and jumped back into the air. He wobbled badly again and spun upside down in midair. "No, no, right side up or I'm getting off!" Adrian covered his eyes.

"Other way, Ralph!" Maxwell chimed in.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" was Ralph's only response. They crashed through the wall at the Franklin Institute, bursting through the screen of the Omniverse Theater in the middle of a film. The audience gasped in awe at the red-suited figure flying overhead. "Wow, these are great special effects!" a teenager in the back row exclaimed.

The three men tumbled out the door into the hall. "Ralph, you really need to work on that!" Maxwell chided him.

"Bill, carrying more than one person at a time is...coming soon, the complete history of comics," Ralph hastily told bystanders gawking at him, "Buy your tickets now."

"You, hold it!" yelled a security guard from up the hall. Ralph seized his associates again and dove over the railing. "Oh not again!" Adrian couldn't bear to watch, especially given that a solid marble floor was directly below them. Luckily Ralph pulled out of the dive in time and broke through the front door. He pulled up into the sky, swerving around the city's tallest buildings. This time he managed to maintain control until they reached the Best Western and crashed through the window from which fire was clearly burning. The teacher blew a deep breath of cold air that managed to extinguish the flames in seconds. "Dad!?" Adrian ran over to where his father lay prostrate on the floor. Jack groaned deeply as he roused. "What the hell happened!?" he moaned, "All I remember is..."

He stared at his son. "Adrian? What are...?" he started to say, but his gaze turned to Ralph standing several feet away. "Oh no, not again!" he groaned.

"This suit is real, Mr. Monk, I can tell you that personally," Ralph told him.

"It's true Dad, I told you," Ambrose rose up from behind the bed, coughing but seemingly all right, "I saw him flying firsthand."

There came a knocking on the door. "Is everyone all right in there?" came the manager's voice, "Where's the fire!?"

Ralph made himself invisible again. Adrian swung the door open. "Uh, we, we were able to get it out in time," he said quickly, "Two guys here might need first aid, though."

"We'll send some up," the manager walked off. "The newspapers," Ambrose groaned once he was gone, taking stock of his stack, "Now I'll have to start all over again! Where are you going, Adrian?"

"I'll, I'll be right back," Adrian rushed next door to his own room. He would have preferred to take a full shower after having swam in the river, but given the lack of time a simple change of clothes would have to do. It took him two minutes to switch out of his now ruined hospital gown and into one of his own suits. "Holograph in on the paper again and see what else they need us to do," he instructed Ralph when he came back in.

"Already done," Ralph was holding it to his forehead again. Jack stared at him in utter confusion. "Is that supposed to be helpful in some way?" the trucker asked.

"I've got an image," Ralph announced, "Oh no, it's Pam. They've got her and Cathy, they're heading east...somewhere. Wait, it's Eighth Street, they're heading for the Ben Franklin Bridge."

"I see," Adrian's brow furled, "They're going to drive off the bridge and make it look like an average car accident."

"And there'd be little way of telling it wasn't an accident," Ambrose realized, "We've got to do something."

"Fifteen minutes to the blast, Ralph, we'll have to make it snappy," Maxwell glanced at his watch.

"Then let's hurry," Ralph scooped him and Adrian up again and ran towards the window.

"Hey wait, don't, where're, come back!" without any warning, Jack ran over and seized hold of Ralph's cape. "Dad, careful!" Ambrose leaped after him and took hold of his father's waist. Before he could make any attempt to pull him back, they were dragged out the window. Ralph swayed hard under the weight of four people and dipped toward the ground. Only with extreme effort was he able to stay aloft. Jack's eyes went wide at the sight of them defying gravity. "Oh my God, it IS real!" he gasped, "But how? How can it be possible!?"

"The less you know, the better, Dad," Adrian told him.

"WHHOOOOAAAAA!!" Ralph barely missed a skyscraper. "To the northeast, kid, the northeast!" Maxwell directed his associate. They wobbled towards the Ben Franklin Bridge, now lit up in the darkness. Adrian noticed it immediately; a taxi zooming way too fast up the bridge, with a familiar figure hanging onto the hood, grappling with someone leaning out the window: Disher. The taxi accelerated toward the side of the bridge near the middle of the span. "Down there, quick," the detective pointed.

Ralph dove at what seemed like the speed of sound towards the roadway. He seized the taxi's rear bumper and dug into the road as hard as he could. The taxi lurched to a stop on the sidewalk with enough force to send Disher flying into the railing. Ralph tore the door of the cab, crushed the driver's gun before he could fire on him, then seized him and the other gunman and flew them up to the top of the nearest tower. Adrian dusted himself off and stuck his head in the door. "Everyone OK?" he asked.

His question was answered as Cathy threw her arms around him, choking him. "What just happened!?" she asked breathlessly, "Randy...?"

Her gaze fell on his form by the railing. "He's OK?" Ambrose stated, examining him, "Out cold, but OK."

"He chased after the cab from the station; he wouldn't let them get away..." Cathy's voice trailed off as she noticed Ralph now decending from the top of the bridge. "What in the...?" she exclaimed, her mouth hanging open.

"I could ask the same thing myself," Jack was equally amazed.

"It's a very long story," Ralph embraced his wife, "They didn't hurt you, honey?"

"No, but it was close," she breathed in relief.

"Listen, you take Cathy and the lieutenant here and go find and nice safe location, preferably somewhere underground," Ralph instructed her, "In case we can't stop the bombs from going off, I want you out of harm's way."

"And when he wakes up," Adrian gestured at Disher, "Let him think he did it on his own--stopped the back guys that is." He turned to his family. "You two stay with them and..."

"No way," Jack interceded, "Whatever you're doing, we're coming along too."

"Dad, think what you're..."

"We came here on this vacation as a family, we're going to do something together as a family," the trucker insisted, "And if it's saving the world, so be it, right Ambrose?"

"Uh, I guess so," the instruction manual writer shrugged, "I really shouldn't be outside this long, so..."

"Then let's get going," Jack took hold of Ralph's cape and tugged it impatiently. The teacher gave Adrian a puzzled look, but shrugged and alighted with everyone again. "How does he do that?" Cathy asked in amazement as she and Pam watched them fly away.

"Oh, it's a blessing...and a curse," was Pam's response, "Let's get the lieutenant underground and call the police."

* * *

Five minutes later, the four would-be heroes crashed down in front of Citizens Bank Park. "That was a terrible landing, pal!" Jack complained to Ralph. 

"He lost the manual, Dad, embrarrassing as it might sound, it's the best he can do," Adrian told him, "All right, once we get inside, you and Ambrose find the others and get them out of here; we've got ten minutes at most. Then find cover, anywhere secure. We'll go find the bombs and stop Karponov and Bunker. Got it?"

"Got it," Ambrose nodded.

"But before we go," Jack approached his younger son, "I just want to say, Adrian, I'm sorry I blew up at you earlier in the hospital."

"Forget it Dad, I was out of line too," the detective said.

"No, really, I've been sort of self-centered all week," the trucker went on, "I've been..."

"All right, all right, there'll be enough time for mushy stuff after the bust," Maxwell grumbled, "Ralph, you go circle the stadium and try and holograph in on the bombs; Monk, follow me, we'll get on the horn and get the president and the fans out of here."

Ralph leaped into the air again. The four remaining men ran for the ticket window...where a line of Secret Service agents stood blocking the way in. "Hold it," the leader held up his hand at them as they approached, "This stadium is secured for the next hour; no one else comes in."

"Maxwell, FBI," the agent flashed his badge, "There are bombs in this building, Tommy Lee; we need to get in immediately."

"There's no bomb here," the leader snorted, "We searched this place from top to bottom before the president arrived. We can't..."

"Hang on, it's Adrian Monk!" another agent recognized him, "Is it true, Monk?"

"Absolutely, everyone in this stadium is in grave danger, we've got to get in now," Adrian stated emphatically.

"We'd better do it then, sir," the sympathetic agent told his superior. The lead agent thought it over for a minute, then stepped out of the detective's way. "Call the bomb squad and prepare the president to leave immediately," he ordered his men.

"Thank you," Adrian commended them. He and Maxwell peeled off to the left once inside, while his father and brother ran to the right towards their group's seats. The detective pointed at the door marked CONTROL ROOM. Maxwell tugged on the knob, found it locked, then drew his gun and shot it off. "Was that really necessary?" Adrian protested as they ran up the stairs to the PA booth, "Suppose they're waiting up there?"

"Trust me Monk, they're not..." Maxwell trailed off as he barged into the booth and found it filled with Bunker's men, who were holding the staff at gunpoint. The door slammed behind the two of them. "So nice of you gentlemen to drop by," came Bunker's murderous voice behind them, "I don't know how you survived to this point, but it won't matter."

"You've failed, Bunker, the president will be leaving in a minute; they'll find your bombs," Adrian told him.

"Even Hinkley won't find them, and it still won't save you, Monk," Bunker put his pistol to the back of the detective's head...


	14. Chapter 14

"Police, freeze!" came the shout of Colton's voice. The Philadelphia cop barged in through the door with his gun cocked. Bunker turned and aimed at him, giving Maxwell the chance to knock Bunker down before he could fire and disarm him. More cops poured into the room, prompting a fight to break among them and the militants. Several shots rang out, hitting several pieces of equipment and causing several songs to start blaring over the sound systems at once. Down below in the stands, Stottlemeyer lifted his head up at the control room above with a suspicious look. "Something's going on up there," he said slowly.

"Oh you'd better believe it," Jack and Ambrose appeared at the edge of the aisle. "You came?" Dr. Kroger was surprised, "Ambrose, you made it outside?"

"You've got to get out of here now," Jack informed the rest of Adrian's party, "The bombs are here in the stadium right now."

"The what!?" Natalie's eyes went wide.

"Four words for you: complete cataclysmic super-nuclear meltdown," Ambrose spelled out the peril for them all.

"Wasn't that five words?" Julie had to know.

"I don't think it really matters right now," her mother seized her arm and dragged her out into the aisle, "Is Mr. Monk...?"

"Adrian's on it right now," Jack glanced up at the press box, "He entrusted me with keeping all of you safe. I think I saw some sewer grates in the parking lot; we can go down there until this all blows over--if it blows over."

"How did you two get down here so quickly?" Sharona had to know as they all ran pell-mell for the exit, "The roads around this place have been locked down for the last hour or so."

"That's classified," Ambrose told her.

"Classified?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Trust me, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you," he said.

Up in the box, Adrian ran over to the main control panel now that the fight was over and the militants were subdued. He stared quizzically at all the buttons before him. "It's this one, let me," the PA announcer flicked the right one to turn on the system. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention," he announced to everyone in the stadium, "At this time we'd like to request that you please rise and walk in an orderly fashion towards the nearest exit."

"And, and make sure you form nice even lines," Adrian added over his shoulder, "If you just remain calm, no one's going to be killed by the huge bombs that are going to go off any minute now."

Loud screams rang out through the stadium as everyone disregarded the request to leave the park orderly and ran crazily in all directions. "Was it something I said?" the detective frowned.

"Monk, you're impossible," Maxwell growled, slapping his cuffs on a defeated Bunker. "All right Sparky, where are those bombs!?"he demanded, grabbing the militant leader by the collar.

"You'll have to kill me, Maxwell, I'm not saying a word," Bunker spit at him.

"Wait a minute," Adrian raised his hand, "When we came in, there was a vending machine against the wall near the first hot dog stand, but it wasn't plugged in."

"Where, show me," the FBI man asked him breathlessly.

"This way," Adrian led the way down the stairs. Maxwell helped Colton up from the floor. "Keep an eye on these filth," he directed him, gesturing with contempt towards Bunker and his men, "If his partner comes in, just call for us."

"Huh?" Colton frowned, but Maxwell was already following Adrian down the stairs. "Ralph, down by the hot dog stand near the entrance, we found one!" he breathed into his radio. They forced their way through crowds of screaming people running for the door until they reached the vending machine in question. Adrian abruptly tumbled to the floor as he ran into a solid invisible object. "Could you cut out that invisible trick!?" he complained.

"I can't risk showing up in public; people would have strokes," the teacher protested.

"Any sign of the other two bombs, Ralph?" Maxwell inquired as he ripped the door off the machine to reveal a huge bomb ticking away underneath, with the timer at three and a half minutes and counting.

"I've got the holograph off them; one's near the bullpen, the other's in Ashburn Alley. But no sign of Kevin. I just hope...well, hope this works," Ralph said. Adrian saw several wires going taut and ducked as sparks flew everywhere. Luckily the bomb went off with a loud buzz. "Good, now let's find the other..." Maxwell started to say.

And then Adrian heard it coming towards them, like a freight train. Before he knew it, the three of them had been slammed into hard by an invisible force. "Pitiful fools!" Karponov roared, "You cannot stop me! I shall see to that personally!"

"Where's Kevin!?" Ralph demanded, "If you've hurt...!!"

A blast of energy blew him backwards. Adrian was picked up and flung into the wall. He groaned in deep misery. "Any, any time you're ready to help, Ralph!" he moaned at his associate on the floor.

"All right, show yourself, bud!" Maxwell brandished his weapon around. He howled and dropped it moment later and was tossed to the side as well. Adrian tried to scramble away, but was picked up by the invisible Karponov. "They say you don't like heights, Comrade Monk," his opponent sneered, "What do you say we cure that right now?"

"Uh, I'd say, 'Please call my psychiatrist and get back to me in the morning!?'" Adrian pleaded. He shrieked as Karponov plowed through the wall and fly high up into the air with him. Adrian whimpered as the stadium got smaller and smaller below. "Bon voyage," the Russian sniggered, tossing him toward the ground. Adrian plummeted like a rock back towards the ground, screaming all the way. He noticed a light tower coming by out of the corner of his eye. With a deep, nervous breath, he reached out his arm and grabbed hold of it. His arm felt a horrible jolt of pain, but he managed to hold on.

"Mr. Monk, are you all right?" came the call from above. Adrian slowly looked up and noticed Kevin hanging by his collar from the top of the tower. "Oh, never better," the detective called up, "Just please GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!!!"

"You!?" Kevin called back, "What about me!?"

Before Adrian could answer, his grip slipped. He plummeted back towards the ground again...

But a red flash caught him in mid-fall. "What kept you waiting!?" he demanded to Ralph, "Your son's up there on the lights. Put me down in the alley, I've got to find that last bomb."

Ralph gently descended to the ground...until a harsh blast of energy hit him in the back, causing Adrian to pitch out of his arms. Luckily they had flown low enough so that he only fell a few feet to the ground. "Just hold him off a little longer," he called up, watching Karponov battle with Ralph in midair. Ashburn Alley was by now almost deserted due to the stampede of fans out of the stadium. Adrian scanned around it. "Come on, come on, where are you!?" he muttered, scanning for another suspicious vending machine. Finally, he spotted it by an ice cream stand. Running over, he put his ear close to it. The sound of something clicking on inside made his heart freeze. He had little more than thirty seconds or else it would be a complete holocaust. And nothing at hand to disarm it. "Think, think!" he thought desperately, "There's got to be some...!"

And then his memory clicked. It was risky, but it just might work. Adrian strained hard to push the vending machine out into the middle of the alley. Fifteen seconds left. "Hey, uh, Mr. Assymetrical!" he shouted as loud as he could up at Karponov in what passed as a taunting tone for him once it was in place, "I, uh, I bet you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with those big bad disintegrators of yours, so, um, give me your best shot, uh, nyah nyah however it goes."

His plan worked; Karponov fired the disintegrating blasts from his eyes. Adrian jumped out of the way so that the blasts hit the bomb and disintegrated it with a mere two seconds left on the clock. The Russian howled in rage when he realized what he'd done. And since no other blast rang out at that moment, Maxwell must have gotten to the third bomb and disarmed it as well. Adrian breathed a huge sigh of relief...

That was immediately cut off as Karponov swooped down upon him faster than a rocket and seized him by the throat with his mechanical arm. "No one!" the Russian thundered as he launched back up into the sky, "crosses Vasily Karponov and\survives in one piece!"

"Uh, if you're going to crush me, make sure it's into an even number of...!" Adrian gasped as the metal hand contracted around his throat hard. Everything was getting blurry very quickly.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw a red blur approaching quickly. Ralph collided into Karponov with such force that Adrian felt his bones rattle inside himself. "Let go of him!" the teacher demanded.

"Please don't word it that way!" Adrian gestured at the ground, now far below them again.

"It's over Karponov!" Ralph told him firmly, "Now surrender before...!"

Karponov jammed his good hand over Ralph chest, causing him to retch in agony. "I don't need the bombs!" the Russian roared, "I can conquer this measly planet on my own! And you can't stop me, brother!"

"I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER!!" Ralph seized his arm and yanked it back, "And I'll keep going till you...!"

He broke off engagement to avoid the disintegrator rays from Karponov's eyes. Adrian could help noticing rather ominous storm clouds beginning to form in the sky around him, and loud rumblings of thunder. "You think you can take me, brother!?" Karponov bellowed, "Let's see how well you stand up against the full, awesome power of this suit!"

A huge flash of lightning arced across the sky, slamming full stream into Ralph and sending him reeling. More lightning flashed, and Adrian felt the winds significantly pick up around them. He shut his eyes as Karponov took off towards the light tower the detective had grabbed onto earlier; Ralph had apparently decided not to fight directly and was now concentrating on rescuing Kevin. "No you don't!" the Russian seized hold of the boy's arm just as Ralph was picking him up and trying to fly away with him, "Child stays with me and dies!"

Another direct strike of lightning crashed into Ralph, causing him to convulse terribly, but he refused to relinquish the grip on his son. "I won't let you!" the teacher shouted, "Adrian, help me here!"

"Well I'm open to any suggestions!" Adrian shouted over the roar of the storm. There wasn't really much time to think things over. He aimed a kick at Karponov's face, then swung himself onto the Russian's back when he flinched and covered his eyes. Karponov bellowed and swiped at him, relinquishing his grip on Kevin. "Insignificant parasite!" Karponov shouted at Adrian. The detective felt a horrible jolt of energy surge through Karponov's body, shocking him and bucking him off. He frantically grabbed onto Ralph cape in midair and avoided another fall. "What a night!" he shouted to the Hinkleys, "I signed up for a baseball game, instead I'm getting a crash course in Quicktrick!"

"It's Quidditch," Kevin corrected him.

"Same difference," the detective shrugged.

Then he noticed something worse. Karponov seemed to be getting larger and larger through the torrents of rain pouring down now. "Oh boy," the detective mumbled weakly, "I think we're in big trouble."

Terrifyingly, Karponov was now almost fifty feet tall across the sky before them. "MISERABLE WRETCHES!!!" he roared at them, he voice echoing like that of an enraged god, "YOU DARE TO DEFY ME!!!??? I AM THE LORD OF THIS PLANET!!!! YOU CAN NEVER DEFEAT ME!!!"

Multiple lightning bolts ripped towards them. Adrian felt like he was going deaf from the roar. Only Ralph's suit protected him from violent electrocution. Karponov then raised a single finger, and the detective noticed a tornado forming. It pulled them in before they could do anything and whipped them violently in circles. Kevin was torn from his father's grasp and flew into Karponov's gigantic hand. The Russian laughed sadistically. "SOME HERO YOUR FATHER IS!!!" his omnipresent voice thundered, "HE CAN'T EVEN SAVE YOU!!"

He started to squeeze his hand shut like a car crusher. It was at that moment that Adrian felt the wipes in his tuxedo pocket start to fly out. They were flung outside the whirlwind and smacked Karponov in the face. Even though this likely amounted to no more than a small bump given his huge size, he flinched for a split second, which caused the tornado to sputter briefly. "What do you know?" the detective commented at the sight of this, "And I always tell people that wipes can be life savers."

With a roar of his own, Ralph burst out of the vortex and flew straight into Karponov's chest, sending the giant bumping backwards. Karponov hissed and fired more disintegrator beams out of his eyes towards his opponent. Ralph threw up his hands, and without warning energy blasts of his own shot out and blocked the bolts. Straining with energy, he forced them back up towards their source. There was a major explosion as they reached it, and Karponov was sent reeling across the sky with a loud shout. He growled and started to fly back at them...

But stopped abruptly and looked upwards. Adrian also looked up and noticed the lights glowing through the stormy clouds. Another spaceship came into view, this one painted black and more ominous-looking than the one Ralph's benefactors flew. It settled directly overhead. "FOOL!" Adrian could hear coming from a glowing light on the bottom of the ship--he figured it was only the fact that he was touching Ralph's suit that made the conversation audible to himself--"YOU HAVE FAILED US! YOU KNOW THE PENALTY FOR THAT!!"

Karponov went white with fear. "No, wait, don't, I can do this on my own, we don't need the bombs, I can conquer this planet for...!" he begged.

"YOU ARE OF NO FURTHER USE TO US!!" was the aliens' cold response. A blinding light shot out from the underside and struck Karponov, who appeared to be shrinking back to normal size under its glare, Adrian thought. When it stopped, he saw Karponov was no longer wearing his suit. With a hideous scream of terror the now helpless Russian plunged through the clouds towards to ground...

Letting go of Kevin in the process, who also had no means of staying aloft. "DAAAAAADDDDD!!" came his terrified cry as he fell.

"Hang on Kevin!" Ralph swan-dove after him. Adrian wanted to complain about how steep the dive they were making was, but given that life was at stake, he felt he was in no position to complain about it. He instead squinted his eyes shut and prayed for the best. The G-forces of the dive were almost unbearable, and he felt sick to his stomach, but he managed to keep composed. Finally, with a last burst of spped, Ralph caught his son just inches above the solid concrete of the parking lot. He pulled up and arced back into the sky over the stadium. Everyone all right!?" he asked out loud, "Where's Karponov?"

Adrian heard the Russian's screams continuing below. He dared to look down to see his form falling towards another light tower. The evil aliens' ship fired another burst of light that exploded the tower just as he touched it, silencing the scream in a supernova of sparks. At the same time, the storms above dissipated, and the sky became as clear as before. "He's, he's no more of a threat," the detective said quickly.

There was another bursting sound as the spaceship soared back towards the stars, sending out a big shockwave that knocked Ralph off kilter. "NOOOT AGGGAAAAAAAIINNN!!!!!" Adrian screamed as they plummetted out of control back into the stadium. They crashed into the turf and plowed a deep trench through the outfield, coming to a stop in front of the visitor's dugout. Adrian breathed a huge sigh of relief; finally the whole thing was over. "Remind, remind me never to do this again," he complained.

Ralph promptly threw his arms around his child. "Oh if anything had happened to you...!" he breathed in deep relief.

"That was the single bravest thing I've ever seen!" Kevin whispered between happy tears.

"I'd do it for you all the time, I'd do anything for you," Ralph sobbed in delight.

"He would, he really would," Adrian stood up, and dusted himself off, dismayed to find grass stains on his suit, but relieved that he seemed to have no injuries.

"I love you Dad," was Kevin's next remark. Ralph rubbed his hair happily. "Again, I'm sorry this came between us," the teacher added.

"I should have understood more," the boy shook his head, "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"It's OK, Kevin, it really is," his father reassured him, "Well, now that our work's done, what do you say you and I go take in this game together once they get everyone back on the field?"

"I've got a better idea," Kevin looked up at him, "If you can fly, Dad, why don't we go for a flight? You know, just so I know what you do every time?"

Ralph laughed with just a tinge of nervousness. "Well, I don't...what I'm saying is...I don't really have the flying down pat yet and..."

"Please?" the boy gave him an imploring look. "What the heck?" his father shrugged, picking him up, "Anything for you."

He turned to Adrian. "I can't thank you enough, Adrian," he told him, "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Just, just please don't ask me to do it again," Adrian said, "That's enough excitement for a lifetime for me. But you did good too, Hinkley."

"Enjoy the game, Monk," Ralph gave him a parting smile before launching into the air with his son. Adrian couldn't help but smiling as he watched them weave crazily across the sky out of control. It was good to know that there was still hope for the worst off of families. Speaking of which...

* * *

"Oh there you are, Mr. Monk," Natalie breathed a huge sigh of relief as her employer walked towards their aisle about twenty minutes later once everyone had been let back into the ballpark after everything had been cleared, "We were so worried for you once they said you were..." 

"Back up a moment," he frowned, "You were worried for me?"

"Well of course we worry about you, Monk," Stottlemeyer gave him a sympathetic glance, "I don't know what we'd do without you. Have a seat."

"I, I don't know what I'd do without any of you either," Adrian sat down at the end of the row...only to have to stand back up again when some more familiar faces appeared on their aisle. "Move on over, Monk," Disher told him as he squirmed by, Cathy on his arm, "Everyone OK here?"

"Of course, and as usual, we manged to do quite well without you," Sharona greeted him.

"Oh on the contrary, I've done quite a bit," the lieutenant told her with a cool grin, "Since last we left, I help saved Cathy here from imminent death. So I do have it in me even though you always seem to think otherwise."

"Yes, Randy, we all know that, really," Adrian said, returning the wink Cathy gave him over her shoulder. "Mrs. Hinkley all right?"

"Bill, I'm telling you, Willie McCovey was the greatest hitter of our generation," came Pam's insistent voice from two rows behind them.

"And I'm telling you, Counselor, no one could top Mickey Mantle no matter what scenario you put up!" was Maxwell's gruff retort. "Well, hello, rejects," he greeted Ralph's students, "Glad to see you haven't torn yourself apart since that little crisis we just had."

"Hey, I didn't see you doin', nothin', Maxwell," Tony retorted at him.

"On the contrary, Vilicana, Monk here and I did the bulk of the work in saving the day here," Maxwell told him off, "And by the way, Monk," he turned to the detective, "The president says thank you."

"If, if you see him again, tell him I said thanks, and that he should dust down the Oval Office next time; it was filthy beyond belief on his last televised address," Adrian remarked. He glanced at the seat next to him. "Thank you for make sure they were all safe, Dad," he said, given his father a warm pat on the back, "You too, Ambrose."

"Like I said, we did together as a family," Jack nodded with a smile, "I'm glad nothing happened to you, Adrian. I don't know what I'd do without you now."

Adrian smiled himself and laid a hand on his father's arm. "Neither do I," he said softly, "I, I do love you, Dad."

"As do I," Ambrose took his father's other arm, "This is kind of what I always dreamed of; the three of us together again as a family for something families do together like a ballgame...although I really shouldn't stay long; staying at these things outside, if they go into extra innings..."

"Ambrose, you're not going to worry about that for tonight," Jack told him. He broke into applause as the Phillies took the field again. "You know, I still remember the first game I ever saw," he told his sons, "June 11, 1949. We took the train down from New Hope to Shibe Park. Ashburn got two hits, Roberts pitched a complete game. I enjoyed it thoroughly. But not nearly as much as I'm going to enjoy this. Popcorn, Adrian?"

He extended the bag he was holding towards his son. Adrian shrugged. "What the heck?" he commented, taking a handful. "Say, where'd your pal Hinkley get to?" his father inquired, "Is he all right?"

Adrian glanced up at the sky to see a bright red point of light spiraling all over the place. "Oh, he's, he's just fine," the detective smiled, "He's, he's walking on air, believe it or not."

THE END


End file.
